4L-fc_.^."- 


AN  OUTCAST  OF  THE  ISLANDS 


BOOKS  BY  JOSEPH  CONRAD 


ALMAYER'S  FOLLY 

AN  OUTCAST  OF  THE  ISLAND 

ARROW  OF  GOLD,  THE 

CHANCE 

FALK.  AND  OTHER  STORIES 

LORD  JIM:  A  ROMANCE 

MIRROR  OF  THE  SEA,  THE 

NIGGER  OF  THE  NARCISSUS,  THE  ' 

NOSTROMO:  A  TALE  OF  THE  SEABOARD 

PERSONAL  RECORD,  A 

RESCUE,  THE 

SECRET  AGENT,  THE 

SET  OF  SIX.  A 

SHADOW  LINE.  THE 

TALES  OF  UNREST 

•TWIXT  LAND  AND  SEA 

TYPHOON 

UNDER  WESTERN  EYES 

VICTORY 

WITHIN  THE  TIDES 

YOUTH:  A  NARRATIVE 

WITH  FORD  M.  HUEFFER 

INHERITORS,  THE:   AN  EXTRAVAGANT 
STORY 


ROMANCE:  A  NOVEL 


^ 


AN   OUTCAST   OF 
THE   ISLANDS 


BY 

JOSEPH  CONRAD 


Pues  el  delito  mayor 

Del  hombre  es  haber  nacito 

— Calderon 


GARDEN    CITY  NEW   YORK 

DOUBLEDAY,  PAGE  &  COMPANY 

1922 


To  R"''" 


A 


osi6^ 


0 


COPYRIGHT,    1896,   BY 

DOUBLEDAY,  PAGE  &  COMPANY 

ALL    RIGHTS   RESERVED,    INCLUDING    THAT   OF    TRANSLATION 

INTO   FOREIGN   LANGUAGES,   INCLUDING  THE   SCANDINAVIAN 

PRINTED  IN  THE  UNITED  STATES 

AT 

THE  COUNTRY  LIFE  PRESS,  GARDEN  CITY,  N.  Y. 


TO 

EDWARD   LANCELOT   SANDERSON, 


520704 


AN   OUTCAST  OF  THE   ISLANDS. 


PART   I. 
I. 


When  he  stepped  off  the  straight  and  narrow  path 
of  his  pecuHar  honesty,  it  was  with  an  inward  asser- 
tion of  unflinching  resolve  to  fall  back  again  into  the 
monotonous  but  safe  stride  of  virtue  as  soon  as  his 
little  excursion  into  the  wayside  quagmires  had  pro- 
duced the  desired  effect.  It  was  going  to  be  a  short 
episode — a  sentence  in  brackets,  so  to  speak — in  the 
flowing  tale  of  his  life:  a  thing  of  no  moment,  to  be 
done  unwillingly,  yet  neatly,  and  to  be  quickly  for- 
gotten. He  imagined  that  he  could  go  on  afterwards 
looking  at  the  sunshine,  enjoying  the  shade,  breathing 
in  the  perfume  of  flowers  in  the  small  garden  before 
his  house.  He  fancied  that  nothing  would  be  changed, 
that  he  would  be  able  as  heretofore  to  tyrannise  good- 
liumouredly  over  his  half-caste  wife,  to  notice  with 
tender  contempt  his  pale  yellow  child,  to  patronise 
loftily  his  dark-skinned  brother-in-law,  who  loved 
pink  neckties  and  wore  patent-leather  boots  on  his 
little  feet,  and  was  so  humble  before  the  white  hus- 
band of  the  lucky  sister.  Those  were  the  delights  of 
his  life,  and  he  was  unable  to  conceive  that  the  moral 
significance  of  any  act  of  his  could  interfere  with  the 
very  nature  of  things,  could  dim  the  light  of  the  sun, 
could  destroy  the  perfume  of  the  flowers,  the  submis- 
sion of  his  wife,  the  smile  of  his  child,  the  awe-struck 

I 


2  AN  OUTCAST  OF  THE   ISLANDS. 

respect  of  Leonard  da  Souza  and  of  all  the  Da  Souza 
family.  That  family's  admiration  was  the  great  lux- 
ury of  his  life.  It  rounded  and  completed  his  exist- 
ence in  a  perpetual  assurance  of  unquestionable  su- 
periority. He  loved  to  breathe  the  coarse  incense  they 
offered  before  the  shrine  of  the  successful  white  man; 
the  man  that  had  done  them  the  honour  to  marry 
their  daughter,  sister,  cousin;  the  rising  man  sure  to 
climb  very  high;  the  confidential  clerk  of  Hudig  & 
Co.  They  were  a  numerous  and  unclean  crowd,  liv- 
ing in  ruined  bamboo  houses,  surrounded  by  neglected 
compounds,  on  the  outskirts  of  Macassar.  He  kept 
them  at  arm's  length  and  even  further  off,  perhaps, 
having  no  illusions  as  to  their  worth.  They  were  a  half- 
caste,  lazy  lot,  and  he  saw  them  as  they  were — ragged, 
lean,  unwashed,  under-sized  men  of  various  ages, 
shuffling  about  aimlessly  in  slippers;  motionless  old 
women  who  looked  like  monstrous  bags  of  pink  calico 
stuffed  with  shapeless  lumps  of  fat,  and  deposited 
askew  upon  decaying  rattan  chairs  in  shady  corners 
of  dusty  verandahs;  young  women,  slim  and  yellowy 
big-eyed,  long-haired,  moving  languidly  amongst  the 
dirt  and  rubbish  of  their  dwellings  as  if  every  step  they 
took  was  going  to  be  their  very  last.  He  heard  their 
shrill  quarrellings,  the  squalling  of  their  children,  the 
grunting  of  their  pigs;  he  smelt  the  odours  of  the 
heaps  of  garbage  in  their  courtyards:  and  he  was 
greatly  disgusted.  But  he  fed  and  clothed  that  shabby 
multitude;  those  degenerate  descendants  of  Portu- 
guese conquerors;  he  was  their  providence;  he  kept 
them  singing  his  praises  in  the  midst  of  their  laziness, 
of  their  dirt,  of  their  immense  and  hopeless  squalor: 
and  he  was  greatly  delighted.  They  wanted  much, 
but  he  could  give  them  all  they  wanted  without  ruin- 
ing himself.  In  exchange  he  had  their  silent  fear, 
their  loquacious  love,  their  noisy  veneration.  It  is  a- 
fine  thing  to  be  a  providence,  and  to  be  told  so  on  every 


AN  OUTCAST  OF  THE   ISLANDS.  3 

day  of  one's  life.  It  gives  one  a  feeling  of  enormously 
remote  superiority,  and  Willems  revelled  in  it.  He 
did  not  analyse  the  state  of  his  mind,  but  probably  his 
greatest  delight  lay  in  the  unexpressed  but  intimate 
conviction  that,  should  he  close  his  hand,  all  those 
admiring  human  beings  would  starve.  His  munifi- 
cence had  demorahsed  them.  An  easy  task.  Since 
he  descended  amongst  them  and  married  Joanna  they 
had  lost  the  little  aptitude  and  strength  for  work  they 
might  have  had  to  put  forth  under  the  stress  of  ex- 
treme necessity.  They  lived  now  by  the  grace  of  his 
will.     This  was  power.     Willems  loved  it. 

In  another,  and  perhaps  a  lower  plane,  his  days  did 
not  want  for  their  less  complex  but  more  obvious 
pleasures.  He  liked  the  simple  games  of  skill — bill- 
iards; also  games  not  so  simple,  and  calling  for  quite 
another  kind  of  skill — poker.  He  had  been  the  aptest 
pupil  of  a  steady-eyed,  sententious  American,  who  had 
drifted  mysteriously  into  Macassar  from  the  wastes 
of  the  Pacific,  and,  after  knocking  about  for  a  time  in 
the  eddies  of  town  life,  had  drifted  out  enigmatically 
into  the  sunny  solitudes  of  the  Indian  Ocean.  The 
memory  of  the  Californian  stranger  was  perpetuated 
in  the  game  of  poker — which  became  popular  in  the 
capital  of  Celebes  from  that  time — and  in  a  powerful 
cocktail,  the  recipe  for  wdiich  is  transmitted — in  the 
Kwang-tung  dialect — from  head  boy  to  head  boy  of 
the  Chinese  servants  in  the  Sunda  Hotel  even  to  this 
day.  Willems  was  a  connoisseur  in  the  drink  and  an 
adept  at  the  game.  Of  those  accomplishments  he  was 
moderately  proud.  Of  the  confidence  reposed  in  him 
by  Hudig — the  master — he  w^as  boastfully  and  obtru- 
sively proud.  This  arose  from  his  great  benevolence, 
and  from  an  exalted  sense  of  his  duty  to  himself  and 
the  world  at  large.  He  experienced  that 4n?esistible 
(li^apulse  to  irn^art  intormatjion_which  is  inseparable 
from  g'rosslgnorance.    There  is  always  some  one  thing 


4  AN   OUTCAST   OF  THE   ISLANDS. 

which  the  ignorant  man  knows,  and  that  thing  is  the 
onTything  worth  knowing;  it  fills^ttie  Ignorant  man's 
uiliy£rse.  Willems  knew^alTaboiTr himself.  On  the 
day  when,  with  many  misgivings,  he  ran  away  from  a 
Dutch  East-Indiaman  in  Samarang  roads,  he  had  com- 
menced that  study  of  himself,  of  his  own  ways,  of  his 
own  abilities,  of  those  fate-compelling  qualities  of  his 
which  led  him  towards  that  lucrative  position  which 
he  now  filled.  Being  of  a  modest  and  diffident  na- 
ture, his  successes  amazed,  almost  frightened  him,  and 
ended — as  he  got  over  the  succeeding  shocks  of  sur- 
prise— by  making  him  ferociously  conceitedx.  He  be- 
lieved in  his  genius  and  in  his  knowledge  of  the  world. 
Others  should  know  of  it  also;  for  their  own  good 
and  for  his  greater  glory.  ^All  those  friendly  men  who 
slapped  him  on  the  back  and  greeted  him  noisily  should 
have  the  benefit  of  his  example.  For  that  he  must 
talk.  He  talked  to  them  conscientiously.  Lin  the  after- 
noon he  expounded  his  theory  of  success  over  the 
little  tables,  dipping  now  and  then  his  moustache  in 
the  crushed  ice  of  the  cocktails;  in  the  evening  he 
would  often  hold  forth,  cue  in  hand,  to  a  young  listener 
across  the  billiard  table^The  billiard  balls  stood  still 
as  if  listening  also,  under  the  vivid  brilliance  of  the 
shaded  oil  lamps  hung  low  over  the  cloth ;  while  away 
in  the  shadows  of  the  big  room  the  Chinaman  marker 
would  lean  wearily  against  the  wall,  the  blank  mask 
of  his  face  looking  pale  under  the  mahogany  marking- 
board;  his  eyelids  dropped  in  the  drowsy  fatigue  of 
late  hours  and  in  the  buzzing  monotony  of  the  unin- 
telligible stream  of  words  poured  out  by  the  white  man. 
In  a  sudden  pause  of  the  talk  the  game  would  recom- 
mence with  a  sharp  click  and  go  on  for  a  time  in  the 
flowing  soft  whirr  and  the  subdued  thuds  as  the  balls 
rolled  zig-zagging  towards  the  inevitably  successful 
cannon.  Through  the  big  windows  and  the  open  doors 
the  salt  dampness  of  the  sea,  the  vague  smell  of  mould 


AN   OUTCAST  OF   THE  ISLANDS.  5 

and  flowers  from  the  garden  of  the  hotel  drifted  in  and 
mingled  with  the  odour  of  lamp  oil,  growing  heavier 
as  the  night  advanced.  The  players'  heads  dived  into 
the  light  as  they  bent  down  for  the  stroke,  springing 
back  again  smartly  into  the  greenish  gloom  of  broad 
lamp-shades;  the  clock  ticked  methodically;  the  un- 
moved Chinaman  continuously  repeated  the  score  in  a 
lifeless  voice,  like  a  big  talking  doll — and  Willems 
would  win  the  game.  With  a  remark  that  it  was  get- 
ting late,  and  that  he  was  a  married  man,  he  would 
say  a  patronising  good-night  and  step  out  into  the 
long,  empty  street.  At  that  hour  its  white  dust  was  like 
a  dazzling  streak  of  moonlight  where  the  eye  sought 
repose  in  the  dimmer  gleam  of  rare  oil  lamps.  Wil- 
lems walked  homewards,  following  the  line  of  walls 
overtopped  by  the  luxuriant  vegetation  of  the  front 
gardens.  The  houses  right  and  left  were  hidden  be- 
hind the  black  masses  of  flowering  shrubs.  Willems 
had  the  street  to  himself.  'He  would  walk  in  the  mid- 
dle, his  shadow  gliding  obsequiously  before  him.  He 
looked  down  on  it  complacently.  The  -hadow  of  a 
successful  man!  He  would  be  slightly  dzzy  with  the 
cocktails  and  wfthFthe  intoxication  of  his  own  glor^J 
As  he  often  told  people,  he  came  east  fourteen  years 
ago — a  cabin  boy.  A  small  boy.  His  shadow  must 
have  been  very  small  at  that  time;  he  thought  with  a 
smile  that  he  was  not  aware  then  he  had  anything — 
even  a  shadow — which  he  dared  call  his  own.  And 
now  he  was  looking  at  the  shadow  of  the  confidential 
clerk  of  Hudig  &  Co.  going  home.  How  glorious! 
How  good  was  life  for  those  that  were  on  the  win- 
ning side!  He  had  won  the  game  of  Hfe;  also  the 
game  of  billiards.  He  walked  faster,  jingling  his  win- 
nings, and  thinking  of  the  white  stone  days  that  had 
marked  the  path  of  his  existence.  He  thought  of  the 
trip  to  Lombok  for  ponies — that  first  important  trans- 
action confided  to  him  by  Hudig;  then  he  reviewed 


6  AN  OUTCAST   OF   THE   ISLANDS. 

the  more  important  affairs:  the  quiet  deal  in  opium, 
the  illegal  traffic  in  gunpowder;  the  great  affair  of 
smuggled  firearms,  the  difficult  business  of  the  Rajah 
of  Goak.  He  carried  that  last  through  by  sheer  pluck; 
he  had  bearded  the  savage  old  ruler  in  his  council 
room;  he  had  bribed  him  with  a  gilt  glass  coach, 
which,  rumour  said,  was  used  as  a  hen-coop  now;  he 
had  overpersuaded  him;  he  had  bested  him  in  every 
way.  That  was  the  way  to  get  on.  He  disapproved 
of  the  elementary  dishonesty  that  dips  the  hand  in 
the  cash-box,  but  one  could  evade  the  laws  and  push 
the  principles  of  trade  to  their  furthest  consequences. 
Some  call  that  cheating.  Those  are  the  fools^  the  weak, 
the  contemptible.  IThe  wise,  the  strong,  the  respected, 
have  no  scruples.  Where  there  are  scruples  ther^  can 
be  no  power.  On  that  text  he  preached  often  to  the 
young  men.  It  was  his  doctrine,  and  h^,  himself,  was 
a  shining  example  of  its  truth./ 

Night  after  night  he  went  home  thus,  after  a  day 
of  toil  and  pleasure,  drunk  with  the_  sound  of  his  own 
voice  celebrating  his  own  prosperity.  On  his  thirtieth 
birthday  he  went  home  thus.  He  had  spent  in  good 
company  a  nice,  noisy  evening,  and,  as  he  walked 
along  the  empty  street,  the  feeling  of  his  own  great- 
ness grew  upon  him,  lifted  him  above  the  white  dust 
of  Macassar  road,  and  filled  him  with  exultation  and 
regrets.  He  had  not  done  himself  justice  over  there 
in  the  hotel,  he  had  not  talked  enough  about  himself, 
he  had  not  impressed  his  hearers  enough.  Never 
mind.  Some  other  time.  Now  he  would  go  home 
and  make  his  wife  get  up  and  listen  to  him.  Why 
should  she  not  get  up? — and  mix  a  cocktail  for  him 
■ — and  listen  patiently.  Just  so.  She  shall.  If  he 
wanted  he  could  make  all  the  Da  Souza  family  get 
up.  He  had  only  to  say  a  word  and  they  would  all 
come  and  sit  silently  in  their  night  vestments  on  the 
hard,  cold  ground  of  his  compound  and  listen,  as  long 


AN   OUTCAST   OF   THE   ISLANDS.  7 

as  he  wished  to  go  on  explaining  to  them  from  the 
top  of  the  stairs,  how  great  and  good  he  was.  They 
would.     However,  his  wife  would  do — for  to-night. 

His  wife!  He  winced  inwardly.  A  dismal  woman 
with  startled  eyes  and  dolorously  drooping  mouth,  that 
would  listen  to  him  in  pained  wonder  and  mute  still- 
ness. She  was  used  to  those  night-discourses  now. 
She  had  rebelled  once— at  the  beginning.  Only  once. 
Now,  while  he  sprawled  in  the  long  chair  and  drank 
and  talked,  she  would  stand  at  the  further  end  of  the 
table,  her  hands  resting  on  the  edge,  her  frightened 
eyes  watching  his  lips,  without  a  sound,  without  a 
stir,  hardly  breathing,  till  he  dismissed  her  with  a  con- 
temptuous :  "  Go  to  bed,  dummy."  She  would  draw 
a  long  breath  then  and  trail  out  of  the  room,  reheved 
but  unmoved.  Nothing  could  startle  her,  make  her 
scold  or  make  her  cry.  She  did  not  complain,  she  did 
not  rebel.  That  first  difference  of  theirs  was  decisive. 
Too  decisive,  thought  Willems,  discontentedly.  It 
had  frightened  the  soul  out  of  her  body  apparently. 
A  dismal  woman!  A  damn'd  business  altogether! 
What  the  devil  did  he  want  to  go  and  saddle  himself. 
.  .  .  Ah!  Well!  he  wanted  a  home,  and  the  match 
seemed  to  please  Hudig,  and  Hudig  gave  him  the 
bungalow,  that  flower-bowered  "house  to  which  he  was 
wending  his  way  in  the  cool  moonlight.  And  he  had 
the  worship  of  the  Da  Souza  tribe.  A  man  of  his  stamp 
could  carry  off.  anything,  do  anything,  aspire  to  any- 
thing. In  another  five  years  those  white  people  who 
attended  the  Sunday  card-parties  of  the  Governor 
would  accept  him — half-caste  wife  and  all!  Hooray! 
He  saw  his  shadow  dart  forward  and  wave  a  hat,  as  big 
as  a  rum  barrel,  at  the  end  of  an  arm  several  yards 
long.  .  .  .  Who  shouted  hooray?  ...  He  smiled 
shamefacedly  to  himself,  and,  pushing  his  hands  deep 
into  his  pockets,  walked  faster 'with  a  suddenly  grave 
face. 


8  AN   OUTCAST  OF   THE   ISLANDS. 

Behind  him — to  the  left — a  cigar  end  glowed  in 
the  ^gateway  of  Mr.  Vinck's  front  yard.  .Leaning 
against  one  of  the  brick  pillars,  Mr.  Vinck,  the  cashier 
of  Hudig  &  Co.,  smoked  the  last  cheroot  of  the  even- 
ing. Amongst  the  shadows  of  the  trimmed  bushes 
Mrs.  Vinck  crunched  slowly,  with  measured  steps, 
the  gravel  of  the  circular  path  before  the  house. 

"  There's  Willems  going  home  on  foot — and  drunk 
I  fancy,"  said  Mr.  Vinck  over  his  shoulder.  ''  I  saw 
him  jump  and  wave  his  hat." 

The  crunching  of  the  gravel  stopped. 

"  Horrid  man,"  said  Mrs.  Vinck,  calmly.  ''  I  have 
heard  he  beats  his  wife." 

"  Oh  no,  my  dear,  no,"  muttered  absently  Mr. 
Vinck,  with  a  vague  gesture.  The  aspect  of  Willems 
as  a  wife-beater  presented  to  him  no  interest.  How 
women  do  misjudge!  If  Willems  wanted  to  torture 
his  wife  he  would  have  recourse  to  less  primitive  meth- 
ods. Mr.  Vinck  knew  Willems  well,  and  believed  him 
to  be  very  able,  very  smart — objectionably  so.  As  he 
took  the  last  quick  draws  at  the  stump  of  his  cheroot, 
Mr.  Vinck  reflected  that  the  confidence  accorded  by 
Hudig  to  Willems  was  open,  under  the  circumstances, 
to  loyal  criticism  from  Hudig's  cashier. 

"  He  is  becoming  dangerous;  he  knows  too  much. 
He  will  have  to  be  got  rid  of,"  said  Mr.  Vinck  aloud. 
But  Mrs.  Vinck  had  gone  in  already,  and  after  shaking 
his  head  he  threw  away  his  cheroot  and  followed  her 
slowly. 

Willems  walked  on  homeward  weaving  the  splen- 
did web  of  his  future.  The  road'to  greatness  lay  plain- 
ly before  his  eyes,  straight  and  shining,  without  any 
obstacle  that  he  could  see.  He  had  stepped  ofif  the 
path  of  honesty,  as  he  understood  it,  but  he  would 
soon  regain  it,  never  to  leave  it  any  more!  It  was  a 
very  small  matter.  He  would  soon  put  it  right  again. 
Meantime  his  duty  was  not  to  be  found  out,  and  he 


AN    OUTCAST   OF   THE   ISLANDS.  g 

trusted  in  his  skill,  in  his  luck,  in  his  well-estabHshed 
reputation  that  would  disarm  suspicion  if  anybody 
dared  to  suspect.  But  nobody  would  dare!  True, 
he  was  conscious  of  a  sHght  deterioration.  He  had 
appropriated  temporarily  some  of  Hudig's  money.  A 
deplorable  necessity.  But  he  judged  himself  with  the 
indulgence  that  should  be  extended  to  the  weaknesses 
of  genius.  He  would  make  reparation  and  all  would 
be  as  before;  nobody  would  be  the  loser  for  it,  and  he 
would  go  on  unchecked  towards  the  brilliant  goal  of 
his  ambition. 

Hudig's  partner! 

Before  going  up  the  steps  of  his  house  he  stood  for 
awhile,  his  feet  well  apart,  chin  in  hand,  contemplat- 
ing mentally  Hudig's  future  partner.  A  glorious  oc- 
cupation. He  saw  him  quite  safe;  soHd  as  the  hills; 
deep — deep  as  an  abyss;  discreet  as  the  gr?ve- 


n. 


The  sea,  perhaps  because  of  its  saltness,  roughens 
the  outside  but  keeps  sweet  the  kernel  of  its  servants' 
soul.  The  old  sea;  the  sea  of  many  years  ago,  whose 
servants  were  devoted  slaves  and  went  from  youth  to 
age  or  to  a  sudden  grave  without  needing  to  open  the 
book  of  life,  because  they  could  look  at  eternity  re- 
flected on  the  element  that  gave  the  life  and  dealt  the 
death.  Like  a  beautiful  and  unscrupulous  woman,  the 
sea  of  the  past  was  glorious  in  its  smiles,  irresistible 
in  its  anger,  capricious,  enticing,  illogical,  irresponsi- 
ble; a  thing  to  love,  a  thing  to  fear.  It  cast  a  spell, 
it  gave  joy,  it  lulled  gently  into  boundless  faith;  then 
with  quick  and  causeless  anger  it  killed.  But  its 
cruelty  was  redeemed  by  the  charm  of  its  inscrutable 


lO  AN    OUTCAST    OF   THE    ISLANDS. 

mystery,  by  the  immensity  of  its  promise,  by  the  su- 
preme witchery  of  its  possible  favour.  Strong  men 
with  childHke  hearts  were  faithful  to  it,  were  content 
to  live  by  its  grace — to  die  by  its  will.  That  was  the 
sea  before  the  time  when  the  French  mind  set  the 
Egyptian  muscle  in  motion  and  produced  a  dismal  but 
profitable  ditch.  Then  a  great  pall  of  smoke  sent  out 
by  countless  steamboats  was  spread  over  the  restless 
mirror  of  the  Infinite.  The  hand  of  the  engineer  tore 
down  the  veil  of  the  terrible  beauty  in  order  that  greedy 
and  faithless  landlubbers  might  pocket  dividends. 
The  mystery  was  destroyed.  Like  all  mysteries,  it 
lived  only  in  the  hearts  of  its  worshippers.  The  hearts 
changed;  the  men  changed.  The  once  loving  and 
devoted  servants  went  out  armed  with  fire  and  iron, 
and  conquering  the  fe^r  of  their  own  hearts  became 
a  calculating  crowd  of  cold  and  exacting  masters.  The 
sea  of  the  past  was  an  incomparably  beautiful  mistress, 
with  inscrutable  face,  with  cruel  and  promising  eyes. 
The  sea  of  to-day  is  a  used-up  drudge,  wrinkled  and 
defaced  by  the  churned-up  wakes  of  brutal  propellers, 
robbed  of  the  enslaving  charm  of  its  vastness,  stripped 
of  its  beauty,  of  its  mystery  and  of  its  promise. 

Tom_Lingai;d  was  a  master,  a  lover,  a  servant  of 
the  sea.  The  sea  took  him  young,  fashioned  him  body 
and  soul;  gave  him  his  fierce  aspect,  his  loud  voice, 
his  fearless  eyes,  his  stupidly  guileless  heart.  Gener- 
ously it  gave  him  his  absurd  faith  in  himself,  his  uni- 
versal love  of  creation,  his  wide  indulgence,  his  con- 
temptuous severity,  his  straightforward  simplicity  of 
motive  and  honesty  of  aim.  Having  made  him  what 
he  was,  wQmanlike,  the  sea  served  him  humbly  and 
let  him  bask  unTiarmed  in  the  sunshine  of  its  terribly 
uncertain  favour.  Tom  Lingard  grew  rich  on  the  sea 
and  by  the  sea.  He  loved  it  with  the  ardent  affection 
of  a  lover,  he  made  light  of  it  with  the  assurance  of 
perfect  mastery,  he  feared  it  with  the  wise  fear  of  a 


AN   OUTCAST    OF    THE    ISLANDS.  n 

brave  man,  and  he  took  liberties  with  it  as  a  spoiled 
child  might  do  with  a  paternal  and  good-natured  ogre. 
He  was  grateful  to  it,  with  the  gratitude  of  an  honest 
heart.  His  greatest  pride  lay  in  his  profound  con- 
viction of  its  faithfulness — in  the  deep  sense  of  his  un- 
erring knowledge  of  its  treachery. 

The  little  brig  Flash  was  the  instrument  of  Lin- 
gard's  fortune.  They  came  north  together— both 
young — out  of  an  Australian  port,  and  after  a  very 
few  years  there  was  not  a  white  man  in  the  islands, 
from  Palembang  to  Ternate,  from  Ombawa  to  Pala- 
wan, that  did  not  know  Captain  Tom  and  his  lucky 
craft.  He  was  liked  for  his  reckless  generosity,  for 
his  unswerving  honesty,  and  at  first  was  a  little  feared 
on  account  of  his  violent  temper.  Very  soon,  how- 
ever, they  found  him  out,  and  the  word  went  round 
that  Captain  Tom's  fury  was  less  dangerous  than  many 
a  man's  smile.  He  prospered  greatly.  After  his  first 
—and  successful — fight  with  the  sea  robbers,  when  he 
rescued,  as  rumour  had  it,  the  yacht  of  some  big  wig 
from  home,  somewhere  down  Carimata  way,  his  great 
popularity  began.  As  years  went  on  it  grew  apace. 
Always  visiting  out-of-the-way  places  of  that  part  of 
the  world,  always  in  search  of  new  markets  for  his 
cargoes — not  so  much  for  profit  as*  for  the  pleasure 
of  finding  them — he  soon  became  known  to  the  Ma- 
lays, and  by  his  succ*sful  recklessness  in  several  en- 
counters with  pirates,  established  the  terror  of  his 
name.  Those  white  men  with  whom  he  had  business, 
and  who  naturally  were  on  the  look-out  for  his  weak- 
nesses, could  easily  see  that  it  was  enough  to  give  him 
his  Malay  title  to  flatter  him  greatly.  So  when  there 
was  anything  to  be  srained  by  it,  and  sometimes  out 
of  pure' and  unprofitable  good  nature,  they  would  drop 
the  ceremonious  ''Captain  Lingard "  and  address  " 
him  half  seriously  as  Rajah  Laut— the  King  of  the  ^Xi^j 
Sea.  / 


12  AN   OUTCAST   OF   THE    ISLANDS. 

He  carried  the  name  bravely  on  his  broad  shoul- 
ders. He  had  carried  it  many  years  already  when  the 
boy  Willems  ran  barefooted  on  the  deck  of  the  ship 
Kosmopoliet  IV.  in  Samarang  roads,  looking  with 
innocent  eyes  on  the  strange  shore  and  objurgating 
his  immediate  surroundings  with  blasphemous  lips, 
while  his  childish  brain  worked  upon  the  heroic  idea 
of  running  away.  From  the  poop  of  the  Flash  Lin- 
gard  saw  in  the  early  morning  the  Dutch  ship  get 
lumberingly  under  weigh,  bound  for  the  eastern  ports. 
Very  late  in  the  evening  of  the  same  day  he  stood  on 
the  quay  of  the  landing  canal,  ready  to  go  on  board  of 
his  brig.  The  night  was  starry  and  clear;  the  little 
custom-house  building  was  shut  up,  and  as  the  gharry 
that  brought  him  down  disappeared  up  the  long  avenue 
of  dusty  trees  leading  to  the  town,  Lingard  thought 
himself  alone  on  the  quay.  He  roused  up  his  sleeping 
boat-crew  and  stood  waiting  for  them  to  get  ready, 
when  he  felt  a  tug  at  his  coat  and  a  thin  voice  said,  very 
distinctly — 

*'  English  captain." 

Lingard  turned  round  quickly,  and  what  seemed  to 
be  a  very  lean  boy  jumped  back  with  commendable 
activity. 

*' Who  are  you?  Where  do  you  spring  from?" 
asked  Lingard,  in  startled  surprise. 

From  a  safe  distance  the  boy  pointed  towards  a 
cargo  lighter  moored  to  the  quay. 

"Been  hiding  there,  have  you?"  said  Lingard. 
"  Well,  what  do  you  want?  Speak  out,  confound  you. 
You  did  not  come  here  to  scare  me  to  death,  for  fun, 
did  you?" 

The  boy  tried  to  explain  in  imperfect  English,  but 
very  soon  Lingard  interrupted  him. 

"  I  see,"  he  exclaimed,  *'  you  ran  away  from  the 
big  ship  that  sailed  this  morning.  Well,  why  don't 
you  go  to  your  countrymen  here?" 


AN   OUTCAST   OF   THE   ISLANDS.  1 3 

"  Ship  gone  only  a  little  way — to  Sourabaya.  Make 
me  go  back  to  the  ship,"  explained  the  boy. 

*'  Best  thing  for  you,"  affirmed  Lingard  with  con- 
viction. 

"  No,"  retorted  the  boy;  "  me  want  stop  here;  not 
want  go  home.    Get  money  here;  home  no  good." 

''  This  beats  all  my  going  a-fishing,"  commented 
the  astonished  Lingard.  "  It's  money  you  want? 
Well!  well!  And  you  were  not  afraid  to  run  away, 
you  bag  of  bones,  you !  " 

The  boy  intimated  that  he  was  frightened  of  noth- 
ing but  of  being  sent  back  to  the  ship.  Lingard  looked 
at  him  in  meditative  silence. 

'*  Come  closer,"  he  said  at  last.     He  took  the  boy 
by  the  chin,  and  turning  up  his  face  gave  him  a  search- 
ing look.    "  How  old  are  you?  " 
"  Seventeen." 

"  There's  not  much  of  you  for  seventeen.    Are  you 
hungry  ?  " 
"  A  little." 

*'  Will  you  come  with  me,  in  that  brig  there?  " 
The  boy  moved  without  a  word  towards  the  boat 
and  scrambled  into  the  bows. 

"  Knows  his  place,"  muttered  Lingard  to  himself 
as  he  stepped  heavily  into  the  stern  sheets  and  took 
up  the  yoke  lines.    "  Give  way  there." 

The  Malay  boat  crew  lay  back  together,  and  the 
gig  sprang  away  from  the  quay  heading  towards  the 
brig's  riding  Hght. 

Sucli^as  the  begianing^ of  .Willems^career. 
Cingard  learned  in  half  an  hour  all  that  there  was 
of  Willems'  commonplace  story.  Father  outdoor  clerk 
of  some  ship-broker  in  Rotterdam ;  mother  dead.  The 
boy  quick  in  learning,  but  idle  in  school.  The  strait- 
ened circumstances  in  the  house  filled  with  small 
brothers  and  sisters,  sufficiently  clothed  and  fed  but 
otherwise  running  wild,  while  the  disconsolate  widow- 


14  AN  OUTCAST  OF   THE   ISLANDS. 

er  tramped  about  all  day  in  a  shabby  overcoat  and  im- 
perfect boots  on  the  muddy  quays,  and  in  the  evening 
piloted  wearily  the  half-intoxicated  foreign  skippers 
amongst  the  places  of  cheap  delights,  returning  home 
late,  sick  with  too  much  smoking  and  drinking — for 
company's  sake — with  these  men,  who  expected  such 
attentions  in  the  way  of  business.  Then  the  offer  of 
the  good-natured  captain  of  Kosmopoliet  IV.,  who  was 
pleased  to  do  something  for  the  patient  and  obliging 
fellow;  young  Willems'  great  joy,  his  still  greater  dis- 
appointment with  the  sea  that  looked  so  charming  from 
afar,  but  proved  so  hard  and  exacting  on  closer  ac- 
quaintance— and  then  this  running  away  by  a  sudden 
impulse.  The  boy  was  hopelessly  at  variance  with  the 
spirit  of  the  sea.  He  had  an  instinctive  contempt  for 
the  honest  simplicity  of  that  work  which  led  to  noth- 
ing he  cared  for.  Lingard  soon  found  this  out.  He 
offered  to  send  him  home  in  an  English  ship,  but  the 
boy  begged  hard  to  be  permitted  to  remain.  He  wrote 
a  beautiful  hand,  became  soon  perfect  in  English,  was 
quick  at  figures ;  and  Lingard  made  him  useful  in  that 
way.  As  he  grew  older  his  trading  instincts  developed 
themselves  astonishingly,  and  Lingard  left  him  often 
to  trade  in  one  island  or  another  while  he,  himself, 
made  an  intermediate  trip  to  some  out-of-the-way 
place.  On  Willems  expressing  a  wish  to  that  effect, 
Lingard  let  him  enter  Hudig's  service.  He  felt  a  lit- 
tle sore  at  that  abandonment  because  he  had  attached 
himself,  in  a  way,  to  his  protege.  Still  he  was  proud 
of  him,  and  spoke  up  for  him  loyally.  At  first  it  was, 
"  Smart  boy  that — never  make  a  seaman  though." 
Then  when  Willems  was  helping  in  the  trading  he 
referred  to  him  as  "  that  clever  young  fellow."  Later 
on,  when  Willems  became  the  confidential  agent  of 
Hudig,  employed  in  many  a  delicate  affair,  the  simple- 
hearted  old  seaman  would  point  an  admiring  finger  at 
his  back  and  whisper  to  whoever  stood  near  at  the 


AN   OUTCAST   OF   THE   ISLANDS.  1 5 

moment,  "  Long-headed  chap  that;  deuced  long- 
headed chap.  Look  at  him.  Confidential  man  of  old 
Hudig.  I  picked  him  up  in  a  ditch,  you  may  say, 
like  a  starved  cat.  Skin  and  bone.  Ton  my  word  I 
did.  And  now  he  knows  more  than  I  do  about  island 
trading.  Fact.  I  am  not  joking.  More  than  I  do," 
he  would  repeat,  seriously,  with  iniiocent  pride  in  his 
honest  eyes. 

From  the  safe  elevation  of  his  commercial  suc- 
cesses Willems  patronised  Lingard.  He  had  a  liking 
for  his  benefactor,  not  unmixed  with  some  disdain  for 
the  crude  directness  of  the  old  fellow's  methods  of 
conduct.  There  were,  however,  certain  sides  of  Lin- 
gard's  character  for  which  Willems  felt  a  qualified  re- 
spect. The  talkative  seaman  knew  how  to  be  silent 
on  certain  matters  that  to  Willems  were  very  inter- 
esting. Besides,  Lingard  was  rich,  and  that  in  itself 
was  enough  to  compel  Willems'  unwilling  admira- 
tion. In  his  confidential  chats  with  Hudig,  Willems 
generally  alluded  to  the  benevolent  Englishman  as 
the  "  lucky  old  fool  "  in  a  very  distinct  tone  of  vexa- 
tion; Hudig  would  grunt  an  unquahfied  assent,  and 
then  the  two  would  look  at  each  other  in  a  sudden 
immobility  of  pupils  fixed  by  a  stare  of  unexpressed 
thought. 

"  You  can't  find  out  where  he  gets  all  that  india- 
rubber,  hey,  Willems?  "  Hudig  would  ask  at  last,  turn- 
ing away  and  bending  over  the  papers  on  his  desk.^ 
"  No,  Mr.  Hudig.  Not  yet.  But  I  am  trying," 
was  Willems'  invariable  reply,  delivered  with  a  ring 
of  regretful  deprecation. 

"Try!  Always  try!  You  may  try!  You  think 
yourself  clever  perhaps,"  rumbled  on  Hudig,  without 
looking  up.  "  I  have  been  trading  with  him  twenty 
—thirty  years  now.  The  old  fox.  And  I  have  tried. 
Bah!" 

He  stretched  out  a  short,  podgy  leg  and  contem- 


l6  AN    OUTCAST   OF   THE   ISLANDS. 

plated  the  bare  Instep  and  the  grass  shpper  hanging 
by  the  toes.  ''  You  can't  make  him  drunk?  "  he  would 
add,  after  a  pause  of  stertorous  breathing. 

"  No,  Mr.  Hudig,  I  can't  really,"  protested  Wil- 
lems,  earnestly. 

"  Well,  don't  try.  I  know  him.  Don't  try,"  ad- 
vised the  master,  and,  bending  again  over  his  desk, 
his  staring  bloodshot  eyes  close  to  the  paper,  he  would 
go  on  tracing  laboriously  with  his  thick  fingers  the 
slim  unsteady  letters  of  his  correspondence,  while 
Willems  waited  respectfully  for  his  further  good  pleas- 
ure before  asking,  with  great  deference — 

"Any  orders,  Mr.  Hudig?" 

"  Hm!  yes.  Go  to  Bun-Hin  yourself  and  see  the 
dollars  of  that  payment  counted  and  packed,  and  have 
them  put  on  board  the  mail-boat  for  Ternate.  She's 
due  here  this  afternoon." 

"  Yes,  Mr.  Hudig." 

"  And,  look  here.  If  the  boat  is  late,  leave  the  case 
in  Bun-Hin's  godown  till  to-morrow.  Seal  it  up. 
Eight  seals  as  usual.  Don't  take  it  away  till  the  boat 
is  here." 

"  No,  Mr.  Hudig." 

''  And  don't  forget  about  these  opium  cases.  It's 
for  to-night.  Use  my  own  boatmen.  Tranship  them 
from  the  Caroline  to  the  Arab  barque,"  went  on  the 
master  in  his  hoarse  undertone.  "  And  don't  you 
come  to  me  with  another  story  of  a  case  dropped  over- 
board Hke  last  time,"  he  added,  with  sudden  ferocity, 
looking  up  at  his  confidential  clerk. 

"  No,  Mr.  Hudig.    I  will  take  care." 

"  That's  all.  Tell  that  pig  as  you  go  out  that  if  he 
doesn't  make  the  punkah  go  a  little  better  I  will  break 
every  bone  in  his  body,"  finished  up  Hudig,  wiping 
his  purple  face  with  a  red  silk  handke4xhiei-iiearly  as 
big  as  a  counterpane. 

Noiselessly  Willems  went  out,  shutting  carefully 


AN   OUTCAST   OF   THE   ISLANDS. 


17 


behind  him  the  httle  green  door  through  which  he 
passed  to  the  warehouse.  Hudig,  pen  in  hand,  hstened 
to  him  buhying  the  punkah  boy  with  profane  violence, 
born  of  unbounded  zeal  for  the  master's  comfort,  be- 
fore he  returned  to  his  writing  amid  the  rustling  of 
papers  fluttering  in  the  wind  sent  down  by  the  punkah 
that  waved  in  wide  sweeps  above  his  head. 

Willems  would  nod  familiarly  to  Mr.  Vinck,  who 
had  his  desk  close  to  the  little  door  of  the  private  office, 
and  march  down  the  warehouse  with  an  important 
air.  Mr.  Vinck — extreme  dislike  lurking  in  every 
wrinkle  of  his  gentlemanly  countenance — would  follow 
with  his  eyes  the  white  figure  flitting  in  the  gloom 
amongst  the  piles  of  bales  and  cases  till  it  passed  out 
through  the  big  archway  into  the  glare  of  the  street. 


III. 


The  opportunity  and  the  temptation  were  too  much 
for  Willems,  and  under  the  pressure  of  sudden  neces- 
sity he  abused  that  trust  which  was  his  pride,  the  per- 
petual sign  of  his  cleverness  and  a  load  too  heav}  for 
him  to  carry.  A  run  of  bad  luck  at  cards,  the  failure 
of  a  small  speculation  undertaken  on  his  own  account, 
an  unexpected  demand  for  money  from  one  or  an- 
other member  of  the  Da  Souza  family — and  almost 
before  he  was  well  aware  of  it  he  was  off  the  path  of 
his  peculiar  honesty.  It  was  such  a  faint  and  ill-de- 
fined track  that  it  took  him  some  time  to  find  out  how 
far  he  had  strayed  amongst  the  brambles  of  the  dan- 
gerous wilderness  he  had  been  skirting  for  so  many 
years,  without  any  other  guide  than  his  own  con- 
venience and  that  doctrine  of  success  which  he  had 
found  for  himself  in  the  bgok  of  life — in  those  inter- 


l8  AN   OUTCAST   OF    THE    ISLANDS. 

esting  chapters  that  the  Devil  has  been  permitted  to 
write  in  it,  to  test  the  sharpness  of  men's  eyesight  and 
the  steadfastness  of  their  hearts.  For  one  short,  dark 
and  sohtary  moment  he  was  dismayed,  but  he  had 
.thaJxourag£L.that_:^iItnQt_&caleJieig±it^^ 
bravelx  through  the  mud — if  there  be  no  other  road. 
He  apphed  himself  to  the  task  of  restitution,  and  de- 
voted himself  to  the  duty  of  not  being  found  out.  On 
his  thirtieth  birthday  he  had  almost  accomplished  the 
task — and  the  duty  had  been  faithfully  and  cleverly 
performed.  He  saw  himself  safe.  Again  he  could  look 
hopefully  towards  the  goal  of  his  legitimate  ambition. 
Nobody  would  dare  to  suspect  him,  and  in  a  few  days 
there  would  be  nothing  to  suspect.  He  was  elated. 
He  did  not  know  that  his  prosperity  had  touched  then 
its  high-water  mark,  and  that  the  tide  was  already  on 
the  turn. 

Two  days  afterwards  he  knew.  ]\Ir.  Vinck,  hear- 
ing the  rattle  of  the  door-handle,  jumped  up  from  his 
desk — where  he  had  been  tremulously  listening  to  the 
loud  voices  in  the  private  office — and  buried  his  face 
in  the  big  safe  with  nervous  haste.  For  the  last  time 
Willems  passed  through  the  little  green  door  leading 
to  Hudig's  sanctum,  which,  during  the  past  half-hour, 
might  have  been  taken — from  the  fiendish  noise  within 
— for  the  cavern  of  some  wild  beast.  Willems'  trou- 
bled eyes  took  in  the  quick  impression  of  men  and 
things  as  he  came  out  from  the  place  of  his  humilia- 
tion. He  saw  the  scared  expression  of  the  punkah 
boy;  the  Chinamen  tellers  sitting  on  their  heels  with 
unmovable  faces  turned  up  blankly  towards  him,  while 
their  arrested  hands  hovered  over  the  little  piles  of 
bright  guilders  ranged  on  the  floor;  Mr.  Vinck's 
shoulder-blades  with  the  fleshy  rims  of  two  red  ears 
above.  He  saw  the  long  avenue  of  gin  cases  stretch- 
ing from  where  he  stood  to  the  arched  doorway  be- 
yond  which  he  would  be  able  to  breathe  perhaps.    A 


AN   OUTCAST   OF   THE    ISLANDS.  jg 

thin  rope's  end  lay  across  his  path  and  he  saw  it  dis- 
tinctly, yet  stumbled  heavily  over  it  as  if  it  had  been  a 
bar  of  iron.  Then  he  found  himself  in  the  street  at  last, 
but  could  not  find  air  enough  to  fill  his  lungs.  He 
walked  towards  his  home,  gasping. 

As  the  sound  of  Hudig's  insults  that  lingered  in  his 
ears  grew  fainter  by  the  lapse  of  time,  the  feeling  of 
shame  was  replaced  slowly  by  a  passion  of  anger 
against  himself  and  still  more  against  the  stupid  con- 
course of  circumstances  that  had  driven  him  into  his 
idiotic  indiscretion.  Idiotic  indiscretion;  that  is  how 
he  defined  his  guilt  to  himself.  Could  there  be  any- 
thing worse  from  the  point  of  view  of  his  undeniable 
cleverness?  What  a  fatal  aberration  of  an  acute  mind! 
He  did  not  recognise  himself  there.  He  must  have 
been  mad.  That's  it.  A  sudden  gust  of  madness.  And 
now  the  work  of  long  years  was  destroyed  utterly. 
What  would  become  of  him? 

Before  he  could  answer  that  question  he  found 
himself  in  the  garden  before  his  house,  Hudig's  wed- 
ding gift.  He  looked  at  it  with  a  vague  surprise  to 
find  it  there.  His  past  was  so  utterly  gone  from  him 
that  the  dwelling  which  belonged  to  it  appeared  to 
him  incongruous  standing  there  intact,  neat,  and 
cheerful  in  the  sunshine  of  the  hot  afternoon.  The 
house  was  a  pretty  Httle  structure  all  doors  and  win- 
dows, surrounded  on  all  sides  by  the  deep  verandah 
supported  on  slender  columns  clothed  in  the  green 
foliage  of  creepers,  which  also  fringed  the  overhanging 
eaves  of  the  high-pitched  roof.  Slowly,  Willems 
mounted  the  dozen  steps  that  led  to  the  verandah.  He 
paused  at  every  step.  He  must  tell  his  wife.  He  felt 
frightened  at  the  prospect,  and  his  alarm  dismayed 
him.  Frightened  to  face  her!  Nothing  could  give 
him  a  better  measure  of  the  greatness  of  the  change 
around  him,  and  in  him.  Another  man — and  another 
life  with  the  faith  in  himself  g'one.     He  could  not 


20  AN   OUTCAST   OF   THE   ISLANDS. 

be  worth   much   if   he  was   afraid   to   face   that   wo- 
man. 

He  dared  not  enter  the  house  through  the  open 
door  of  the  dining-room,  but  stood  irresolute  by  the 
httle  work-table  where  trailed  a  white  piece  of  calico, 
with  a  needle  stuck  in  it,  as  if  the  work  had  been  left 
hurriedly.  The  pink-crested  cockatoo  started,  on  his 
appearance,  into  clumsy  activity  and  began  to  climb 
laboriously  up  and  down  his  perch,  calling  "  Joanna  " 
with  indistinct  loudness  and  a  persistent  screech  that 
prolonged  the  last  syllable  of  the  name  as  if  in  a  peal 
of  insane  laughter.  The  screen  in  the  doorway  moved 
gently  once  or  twice  in  the  breeze,  and  each  time  Wil- 
lems  started  slightly,  expecting  his  wife,  but  he  never 
lifted  his  eyes,  although  straining  his  ears  for  the  sound 
of  her  footsteps.  Gradually  he  lost  himself  in  his 
thoughts,  in  the  endless  speculation  as  to  the  manner 
in  which  she  would  receive  his  news — and  his  orders. 
In  this  preoccupation  he  almost  forgot  the  fear  of  her 
presence.  No  doubt  she  will  cry,  she  will  lament,  she 
will  be  helpless  and  frightened  and  passive  as  ever. 
And  he  would  have  to  drag  that  limp  weight  on  and 
on  through  the  darkness  of  a  spoiled  life.  Horrible! 
Of  course  he  could  not  abandon  her  and  the  child  to 
certain  misery  or  possible  starvation.  The  wife  and 
the  child  of  Willems.  Willems  the  successful,  the 
smart;  Willems  the  conf  ....  Pah!  And  what  was 
Willems  now?  Willems  the  ....  He  strangled  the 
half-born  thought,  and  cleared  his  throat  to  stifle  a 
groan.  Ah!  Won't  they  talk  to-night  in  the  billiard- 
room — his  world,  where  he  had  been  first — all  those 
men  to  whom  he  had  been  so  superciliously  conde- 
scending. Won't  they  talk  with  surprise,  and  afifected 
regret,  and  grave  faces,  and  wise  nods.  Some  of  them 
owed  him  money,  but  he  never  pressed  anybody. 
Not  he.  Willems,  the  prince  of  good  fellows,  they 
called  him.    And  now  they  will  rejoice,  no  doubt,  at  his 


AN   OUTCAST   OF   THE    ISLANDS.  2 1 

downfall.  A  crowd  of  imbeciles.  In  his  abasement 
he  was  yet  aware  of  his  superiority  over  those  fellows, 
who  were  merely  honest  or  simply  not  found  out  yet. 
A  crowd  of  imbeciles!  He  shook  his  fist  at  the  evoked 
image  of  his  friends,  and  the  startled  parrot  fluttered 
its  wings  and  shrieked  in  desperate  fright. 

In  a  short  glance  upwards  Willems  saw  his  wife 
come  round  the  corner  of  the  house.  He  lowered  his 
eyelids  quickly,  and  waited  silently  till  she  came  near 
and  stood  on  the  other  side  of  the  little  table.  He 
would  not  look  at  her  face,  but  he  could  see  the  red 
dressing-gown  he  knew  so  well.  She  trailed  through 
life  in  that  red  dressing-gown,  with  its  row  of  dirty 
blue  bows  down  the  front,  stained,  and  hooked  on 
awry;  a  torn  flounce  at  the  bottom  following  her  like 
a  snake  as  she  moved  languidly  about,  with  her  hair 
negligently  caught  up,  and  a  tangled  wisp  straggling 
untidily  down  her  back.  His  gaze  travelled  upwards 
from  bow  to  bow,  noticing  those  that  hung  only  by 
a  thread,  but  it  did  not  go  beyond  her  chin.  He  looked 
at  her  lean  throat,  at  the  obtrusive  collar-bone  visible 
in  the  disarray  of  the  upper  part  of  her  attire.  He  saw 
the  thin  arm  and  the  bony  hand  clasping  the  child  she 
carried,  and  he  felt  an  immense  distaste  for  those  en- 
cumbrances of  his  life.  He  waited  for  her  to  say  some- 
thing, but  as  he  felt  her  eyes  rest  on  him  in  unbroken 
silence  he  sighed  and  began  to  speak. 

It  was  a  hard  task.  He  spoke  slowly,  lingering 
amongst  the  memories  of  this  early  life  in  his  reluc- 
tance to  confess  that  this  was  the  end  of  it  and  the 
beginning  of  a  less  splendid  existence.  In  his  con- 
viction of  having  made  her  happiness  in  the  full  satis- 
faction of  all  material  wants  he  never  doubted  for  a 
moment  that  she  was  ready  to  keep  him  company  on 
no  matter  how  hard  and  stony  a  road.  He  was  not 
elated  by  this  certitude.  He  had  married  her  to  please 
Hudig,  and  the  greatness  of  his  sacrifice  ought  to  have 


22  AN   OUTCAST   OF   THE   ISLANDS. 

made  her  happy  without  any  further  exertion  on  his 
part.  She  had  years  of  glory  as  Willems'  wife,  and 
years  of  comfort,  of  loyal  care,  and  of  such  tenderness 
as  she  deserved.  He  had  guarded  her  carefully  from 
any  bodily  hurt;  and  of^any  other_ suffering  he  had  no 
conception.  The  assertion  of  his  superiority  was  only 
another  benefit  conferred  on  her.  All  this  was  a  mat- 
ter of  course,  but  he  told  her  all  this  so  as  to  bring 
vividly  before  her  the  greatness  of  her  loss.  She  was 
so  dull  of  understanding  that  she  would  not  grasp  it 
else.  And  now  it  was  at  an  end.  They  would  have  to 
go.  Leave  this  house,  leave  this  island,  go  far  away 
where  he  was  unknown.  To  the  English  Strait-Set- 
tlements perhaps.  He  would  find  an  opening  there 
for  his  abilities — and  juster  men  to  deal  with  than  old 
Hudig.     He  laughed  bitterly. 

"  You  have  the  money  I  left  at  home  this  morning, 
Joanna?  "  he  asked.    ''  We  will  want  it  all  now." 

As  he  spoke  those  words  he  thought  he  was  a  fine 
fellow.  Nothing  new  that.  Still,  he  surpassed  there 
his  own  expectations.  Hang  it  all,  there  are  sacred 
things  in  life,  after  all.  The  marriage  tie  was  one  of 
them,  and  he  was  not  the  man  to  break  it.  The  solid- 
ity of  his  principles  caused  him  great  satisfaction,  but 
he  did  not  care  to  look  at  his  wife,  for  all  that.  He 
waited  for  her  to  speak.  Then  he  shall  have  to  con- 
sole her;  tell  her  not  to  be  a  crying  fool;  to  get  ready 
to  go.  Go  where?  How?  When?  He  shook  his 
head.  They  must  leave  at  once;  that  was  the  prin- 
cipal thing.  He  felt  a  sudden  need  to  hurry  up  his 
departure. 

"  Well,  Joanna,"  he  said,  a  little  impatiently — 
"don't  stand  there  in  a  trance.  Do  you  hear?  We 
must  .  .  ." 

He  looked  up  at  his  wife,  and  whatever  he  was 
going  to  add  remained  unspoken.  She  was  staring  at 
him  with  her  big,  slanting  eyes,  that  seemed  to  hiro 


AN   OUTCAST  OF  THE   ISLANDS.  23 

twice  their  natural  size.  The  child,  its  dirty  little  face 
pressed  to  its  mothers  shoulder,  was  sleeping  peace- 
fully. The  deep  silence  of  the  house  was  not  broken, 
but  rather  accentuated,  by  the  low  mutter  of  the  cocka- 
too, now  very  still  on  its  perch.  As  Willems  was  look- 
ing at  Joanna  her  upper  lip  was  drawn  up  on  one  side, 
giving  to  her  melancholy  face  a  vicious  expression 
altogether  new  to  his  experience.  He  stepped  back 
in  his  surprise. 

"Oh!  You  great  man!"  she  said  distinctly,  but 
in  a  voice  that  was  hardly  above  a  whisper. 

Those  words,  and  still  more  her  tone,  stunned  him 
as  if  somebody  had  fired  a  gun  close  to  his  ear.  He 
stared  back  at  her  stupidly. 

''Oh!  you  great  man!"  she  repeated  slowly, 
glancing  right  and  left  as  if  meditating  a  sudden  es- 
cape. "  And  you  think  that  I  am  going  to  starve  with 
you.  You  are  nobody  now.  You  think  my  mamma 
and  Leonard  would  let  me  go  away?  And  with  you! 
With  you,"  she  repeated  scornfully,  raising  her  voice, 
which  woke  up  the  child  and  caused  it  to  whimper 
feebly. 

"Joanna!"  exclaimed  Willems. 

"  Do  not  speak  to  me.  I  have  heard  what  I  have 
waited  for  all  these  years.  You  are  less  than  dirt,  you 
that  have  wiped  your  feet  on  me.  I  have  waited  for 
this.  I  am  not  afraid  now.  I  do  not  want  you;  do 
not  come  near  me.  Ah — ^h !  "  she  screamed  shrilly,  as 
he  held  out  his  hand  in  an  entreating  gesture — "  Ah! 
Keep  ofif  me!     Keep  off  me!     Keep  off!  " 

She  backed  away,  looking  at  him  with  eyes  both 
angry  and  frightened.  Willems  stared  motionless,  in 
dumb  amazement  at  the  mystery  of  anger  and  revolt 
in  the  head  of  his  wife.  Why?  What  had  he  ever 
done  to  her?  This  was  the  day  of  injustice  indeed. 
First  Hudig — and  now  his  wife.  He  felt  a  terror  at 
this  hate  that  had  lived  stealthily  so  near  him  for  years. 


24 


AN   OUTCAST   OF   THE   ISLANDS. 


He  tried  to  speak,  but  she  shrieked  again,  and  it  was 
Hke  a  needle  through  his  heart.  Again  he  raised  his 
hand. 

"  Help!  "  called  Mrs.  Willems,  in  a  piercing  voice. 
"Help!" 

''Be  quiet!  You  fool!"  shouted  Willems,  trying 
to  drown  the  noise  of  his  wife  and  child  in  his  own 
angry  accents  and  rattling  violently  the  little  zinc  table 
in  his  exasperation. 

From  under  the  house,  where  there  were  bath- 
rooms and  a  tool  closet,  appeared  Leonard,  a  rusty  iron 
bar  in  his  hand.  He  called  threateningly  from  the 
bottom  of  the  stairs. 

"  Do  not  hurt  her,  Mr.  Willems.  You  are  a  sav- 
age.    Not  at  all  like  we,  whites." 

"You  too!"  said  the  bewildered  Willems.  "I 
haven't  touched  her.  Is  this  a  madhouse?"  He 
moved  towards  the  stairs,  and  Leonard  dropped  the 
bar  with  a  clang  and  made  for  the  gate  of  the  com- 
pound.   Willems  turned  back  to  his  wife. 

"  So  you  expected  this,"  he  said.  "  It  is  a  con- 
spiracy. Who's  that  sobbing  and  groaning  in  the 
room?    Some  more  of  your  precious  family.    Hey?  " 

She  was  more  calm  now,  and  putting  hastily  the 
crying  child  in  the  big  chair  walked  towards  him  with 
sudden  fearlessness. 

"  My  mother,"  she  said,  "  my  mother  who  came  to 
defend  me  from  you — man  from  nowhere;  a  vaga- 
bond!" 

"  You  did  not  call  me  a  vagabond  when  you  hung 
round  my  neck — before  we  were  married,"  said  Wil- 
lems, contemptuously. 

"  You  took  good  care  that  I  should  not  hang  round 
your  neck  after  we  were,"  she  answered,  clenching 
her  hands,  and  putting  her  face  close  to  his.  "  You 
boasted  while  I  suffered  and  said  nothing.  What  has 
become   of  your   greatness;    of   our  greatness — you 


AN   OUTCAST   OF   THE   ISLANDS.  25 

were  always  speaking  about?  Now  I  am  going  to  live 
on  the  charity  of  your  master.  Yes.  That  is  true. 
He  sent  Leonard  to  tell  me  so.  And  you  will  go  and 
boast  somewhere  else,  and  starve.  So!  Ah!  I  can 
breathe  now!    This  house  is  mine." 

"  Enough!  "  said  Willems,  slowly,  with  an  arrest- 
ing gesture. 

She  leaped  back,  the  fright  again  in  her  eyes, 
snatched  up  the  child,  pressed  it  to  her  breast,  and, 
falling  into  a  chair,  drummed  insanely  with  her  heels 
on  the  resounding  floor  of  the  verandah. 

''  I  shall  go,"  said  Willems,  steadily.  "  I  thank 
you.  For  the  first  time  in  your  life  you  make  me  hap- 
py. You  were  a  stone  round  my  neck;  you  under- 
stand. I  did  not  mean  to  tell  you  that  as  long  as  you 
lived,  but  you  made  me — now.  Before  I  pass  this  gate 
you  shall  be  gone  from  my  mind.  You  made  it  very 
easy.     I  thank  you." 

He  turned  and  went  down  the  steps  without  giv- 
ing her  a  glance,  while  she  sat  upright  and  quiet,  with 
wide-open  eyes,  the  child  crying  querulously  in  her 
arms.  At  the  gate  he  came  suddenly  upon  Leonard, 
who  had  been  dodging  about  there  and  failed  to  get 
out  of  the  way  in  time. 

''  Do  not  be  brutal,  Mr.  Willems,"  said  Leonard, 
hurriedly.  "  It  is  unbecoming  between  white  men 
with  all  those  natives  looking  on."  Leonard's  legs  trem- 
bled very  much,  and  his  voice  wavered  between  high 
and  low  tones  without  any  attempt  at  control  on  his 
part.  ''  Restrain  your  improper  violence,"  he  went  on 
mumbhng  rapidly.  *'  I  am  a  respectable  man  of  very 
good  family,  while  you  ...  it  is  regrettable  .  .  .  they 
all  say  so  .  .  ." 

"What?"  thundered  Willems.  He  felt  a  sudden 
impulse  of  mad  anger,  and  before  he  knew  what  had 
happened  he  was  looking  at  Leonard  da  Souza  rolHng 
in  the  dust  at  his  feet.    He  stepped  over  his  prostrate 


26  AN   OUTCAST   OF   THE   ISLANDS. 

brother-in-law  and  tore  blindly  down  the  street,  every- 
body making  way  for  the  frantic  white  man. 

When  he  came  to  himself  he  was  beyond  the  out- 
skirts of  the  town,  stumbling  on  the  hard  and  cracked 
earth  of  reaped  rice  fields.  How  did  he  get  there?  It 
was  dark.  He  must  get  back.  As  he  walked  towards 
the  town  slowly,  his  mind  reviewed  the  events  of  the 
day  and  he  felt  a  sense  of  bitter  loneliness.  His  wife 
had  turned  him  out  of  his  own  house.  He  had  as- 
saulted brutally  his  brother-in-law,  a  member  of  the 
Da  Souza  family — of  that  band  of  his  worshippers. 
He  did.  Well,  no!  It  was  some  other  man.  Another 
man  was  coming  back.  A  man  without  a  past,  with- 
out a  future,  yet  full  of  pain  and  shame  and  anger.  He 
stopped  and  looked  round.  A  dog  or  two  glided  across 
the  empty  street  and  rushed  past  him  with  a  frightened 
snarl.  He  was  now  in  the  midst  of  the  Malay  quarter 
whose  bamboo  houses,  hidden  in  the  verdure  of  their 
little  gardens,  were  dark  and  silent.  Men,  women  and 
children  slept  in  there.  Human  beings.  Would  he 
ever  sleep,  and  where?  He  felt  as  if  he  was  the  out- 
cast of  all  mankind,  and  as  he  looked  hopelessly  round, 
before  resuming  his  weary  march,  it  seemed  to  him 
that  the  world  was  bigger,  the  night  more  vast  and 
more  black;  but  he  went  on  doggedly  with  his  head 
down  as  if  pushing  his  way  through  some  thick  bram- 
bles. Then  suddenly  he  felt  planks  under  his  feet  and, 
looking  up,  saw  the  red  light  at  the  end  of  the  jetty. 
He  walked  quite  to  the  end  and  stood  leaning  against 
the  post,  under  the  lamp,  looking  at  the  roadstead 
where  two  vessels  at  anchor  swayed  their  slender  rig- 
ging amongst  the  stars.  The  end  of  the  jetty ;  and  here 
in  one  step  more  the  end  of  life ;  the  end  of  everything. 
Better  so.  What  else  could  he  do?  Nothing  ever 
comes  back.  He  saw  it  clearly.  The  respect  and  ad- 
miration of  them  all,  the  old  habits  and  old  affections 
finished  abruptly  in  the  clear  perception  of  the  cause 


AN  OUTCAST  OF  THE   ISLANDS.  27 

of  his  disgrace.  He  saw  all  this;  and  for  a  time  he 
came  out  of  himself,  out  of  his  selfishness — out  of  the 
constant  preoccupation  of  his  interests  and  his  desires 
• — out  of  the  temple  of  self  and  the  concentration  of 
personal  thought. 

His  thoughts  now  wandered  home.  Standing  in 
the  tepid  stillness  of  a  starry  tropical  night  he  felt  the 
breath  of  the  bitter  east  wind,  he  saw  the  high  and 
narrow  fronts  of  tall  houses  under  the  gloom  of  a 
clouded  sky;  and  on  muddy  quays  he  saw  the  shabby, 
high-shouldered  figure — the  patient,  faded  face  of  the 
weary  man  earning  bread  for  the  children  that  waited 
for  him  in  a  dingy  home.  It  was  miserable,  miserable. 
But  it  would  never  come  back.  What  was  there  in 
common  between  those  things  and  Willems  the  clever, 
Willems  the  successful.  He'  had  cut  himself  adrift 
from  that  home  many  years  ago.  Better  for  him  then. 
Better  for  them  now.  All  this  was  gone,  never  to 
come  back  again;  and  suddenly  he  shivered,  seeing 
himself  alone  in  the  presence  of  unknown  and  terrible 
dangers. 

For  the  first  time  in  his  life  he  felt  afraid  of  the 
future,  because  he  had  lost  his  faith,  the  faith  in  his 
own  success.  And  he  had  destroyed  it  foolishly  with 
his  own  hands! 


IV. 

His  meditation  which  resembled  slow  drifting  into 
suicide  was  interrupted  by  Lingard,  who,  with  a  loud 
"  I've  got  you  at  last!  "  dropped  his  hand  heavily  on 
Willems'  shoulder.  This  time  it  was  the  old  seaman 
himself  going  out  of  his  way  to  pick  up  the  uninter- 
esting waif — all  that  there  was  left  of  that  sudden  ^nd 
sordid  shipwreck.    To  Willems,  the  rough,  friendly 


4 


28  AN   OUTCAST   OF    THE   ISLANDS. 

voice  was  a  quick  and  fleeting  relief  followed  by  a 
sharper  pang  of  anger  and  unavailing  regret.  That 
voice  carried  him  back  to  the  beginning  of  his  promis- 
ing career,  the  end  of  which  was  very  visible  now  from 
the  jetty  where  they  both  stood.  He  shook  himself 
free  from  the  friendly  grasp,  saying  with  ready  bitter- 
ness— 

''  It's  all  your  fault.  Give  me  a  push  now,  do,  and 
send  me  over.  I  have  been  standing  here  waiting  for 
help.  You  are  the  man — of  all  men.  You  helped  at 
the  beginning;  you  ought  to  have  a  hand  in  the  end." 

"  I  have  better  use  for  you  than  to  throw  you  to 
the  fishes,"  said  Lingard,  seriously,  taking  Willems 
by  the  arm  and  forcing  him  gently  to  walk  up  the 
1  jetty.  "  I  have  been  buzzing  over  this  town  like  a 
bluebottle  fly,  looking  for  you  high  and  low.  I  have 
heard  a  lot.  1  will  tell  you  what,  Willems;  you  are 
no  saint,  that's  a  fact.  And  you  have  not  been  over- 
wise  either.  I  am  not  throwing  stones,"  he  added, 
hastily,  as  Willems  made  an  effort  to  get  away,  *'  but 
I  am  not  going  to  mince  matters.  Never  could!  You 
keep  quiet  while  I  talk.     Can't  you?" 

With  a  gesture  of  resignation  and  a  half-stifled 
groan  Willems  submitted  to  the  stronger  will,  and  the 
two  men  paced  slowly  up  and  down  the  resounding 
planks,  while  Lingard  disclosed  to  Willems  the  exact 
manner  of  his  undoing.  After  the  first  shock  Willems 
lost  the  faculty  of  surprise  in  the  overpowering  feeling 
of  indignation.  So  it  was  Vinck  and  Leonard  who 
had  served  him  so.  They  had  watched  him,  tracked 
his  misdeeds,  reported  them  to  Hudig.  They  had 
bribed  obscure  Chinamen,  wormed  out  confidences 
from  tipsy  skippers,  got  at  various  boatmen,  and  had 
pieced  out  in  that  way  the  story  of  his  irregularities. 
The  blackness  of  this  dark  intrigue  filled  him  with 
horror.  He  could  understand  Vinck.  There  was  no 
love  lost  between  them.     But  Leonard!     Leonard! 


AN   OUTCAST   OF   THE   ISLANDS.  29 

"  Why,  Captain  Lingard,"  he  burst  out,  "  the  fel- 
low licked  my  boots." 

"  Yes,  yes,  yes,"  said  Lingard,  testily,  "  we  know 
that,  and  you  did  your  best  to  cram  your  boot  down 
his  throat.     No  man  likes  that,  my  boy." 

"  I  was  always  giving  money  to  all  that  hungry 
lot,"  went  on  Willems,  passionately.  "  Always 
my  hand  in  my  pocket.  They  never  had  to  ask 
twice." 

*'  Just  so.  Your  generosity  frightened  them.  They 
asked  themselves  where  all  that  came  from,  and  con- 
cluded that  it  was  safer  to  throw  you  overboard.  After 
all,  Hudig  is  a  much  greater  man  than  you,  my  friend, 
and  they  have  a  claim  on  him  also." 

"What  do  you  mean.  Captain  Lingard?" 

"  What  do  I  mean?  "    repeated   Lingard,  slowly. 
"  Why,  you  are  not  going  to  make  me  believe  you  did 
not  know  your  wife  was  Hudig's  daughter.     Come> 
now ! " 

Willems  stopped  suddenly  and  swayed  about. 

''  Ah!  I  understand,"  he  gasped.  ''  I  never  heard. 
.  .  .  Lately  I  thought  there  was  .  .  .  But  no,  I  never 
guessed." 

"Oh,  you  simpleton!"  said  Lingard,  pityingly. 
"  Ton  my  word,"  he  muttered  to  himself,  "  I  don't 
believe  the  fellow  knew.  Well!  well!  Steady  now. 
Pull  yourself  together.  What's  wrong  there.  She  is 
a  good  wife  to  you." 

"  Excellent  wife,"  said  Willems,  in  a  dreary  voice, 
looking  far  over  the  black  and  scintillating  water. 

"  Very  well  then,"  went  on  Lingard,  with  increas- 
ing friendliness.  "  Nothing  wrong  there.  But  did  you 
really  think  that  Hudig  was  marrying  you  ofif  and  giv- 
ing you  a  house  and  I  don't  know  what,  out  of  love  for 
you?" 

"  I  had  served  him  well,"  answered  Willems. 
"  How  well,  you  know  yourself — through  thick  and 


30  AN   OUTCAST   OF  THE   ISLANDS. 

thin.    No  matter  what  work  and  what  risk,  I  was  al- 
ways there;  ahvays  ready." 

How  well  he  saw  the  greatness  of  his  work  and 
the  immensity  of  that  injustice  which  was  his  reward 
She  was  that  man's  daughter!  In  the  light  of  this  dis- 
closure the  facts  of  the  last  five  years  of  his  life  stood 
clearly  revealed  in  their  full  meaning.  He  had  spoken 
first  to  Joanna  at  the  gate  of  their  dwelling  as  he  went 
to  his  work  in  the  brilliant  flush  of  the  early  morning, 
when  women  and  flowers  are  charming  even  to  the 
dullest  eyes.  A  most  respectable  family — two  women 
and  a  young  man — were  his  next-door  neighbours. 
Nobody  ever  came  to  their  Httle  house  but  the  priest, 
a  native  from  the  Spanish  islands,  now  and  then.  The 
young  man  Leonard  he  had  met  in  town,  and  was  flat- 
tered by  the  little  fellow's  immense  respect  for  the 
great  Willems.  He  let  him  bring  chairs,  call  the  wait- 
ers, chalk  his  cues  when  playing  billiards,  express  his 
admiration  in  choice  words.  He  even  condescended 
to  listen  patiently  to  Leonard's  allusions  to  "  our  be- 
loved father,"  a  man  of  official  position,  a  government 
agent  in  Koti,  where  he  died  of  cholera,  alas!  a  victim 
to  duty,  like  a  good  Catholic  and  a  good  man.  It 
sounded  very  respectable,  and  Willems  approved  of 
those  feeling  references.  Moreover,  he  prided  him- 
self upon  having  no  colour-prejudices  and  no  racial 
antipathies.  He  consented  to  drink  curaqoa  one  after- 
noon on  the  verandah  of  Mrs.  da  Souza's  house.  He 
remembered  Joanna  that  day,  swinging  in  a  hammock. 
She  was  untidy  even  then,  he  remembered,  and  that 
was  the  only  impression  he  carried  away  from  that 
visit.  He  had  no  time  for  love  in  those  glorious  days, 
no  time  even  for  a  passing  fancy,  but  gradually  he 
fell  into  the  habit  of  calling  almost  every  day  at  that 
little  house  where  he  was  greeted  by  Mrs.  da  Souza's 
shrill  voice  screaming  for  Joanna  to  come  and  enter- 
tain the  gentleman  from  Hudig  &  Co.    And  then  the 


AN  OUTCAST  OF   THE  ISLANDS. 


31 


sudden  and  unexpected  visit  of  the  priest.  He  remem- 
bered the  man's  flat,  yellow  face,  his  thin  legs,  his  pro- 
pitiatory smile,  his  beaming  black  eyes,  his  conciliat- 
ing manner,  his  veiled  hints  which  he  did  not  under- 
stand at  the  time.  How  he  wondered  what  the  man 
wanted,  and  how  unceremoniously  he  got  rid  of  him. 
And  then  came  vividly  into  his  recollection  the  morn- 
ing when  he  met  again  that  fellow  coming  out  of  Hu- 
dig's  office,  and  how  he  was  amused  at  the  incongruous 
visit.  And  that  morning  with  Hudig!  Would  he  ever 
forget  it?  Would  he  ever  forget  his  surprise  as  the 
master,  instead  of  plunging  at  once  into  business, 
looked  at  him  thoughtfully  before  turning,  with  a  fur- 
tive smile,  to  the  papers  on  the  desk?  He  could  hear 
him  now,  his  nose  in  the  paper  before  him,  dropping 
astonishing  words  in  the  intervals  of  wheezy  breath- 
ing. 

"  Heard  said  .  .  .  called  there  often  .  .  .  most  re- 
spectable ladies  .  .  .  knew  the  father  very  well  .  .  . 
estimable  .  .  .  best  thing  for  a  young  man  .  .  .  settle 
down.  .  .  .  Personally,  very  glad  to  hear  .  .  .  thing 
arranged.  .  .  .  Suitable  recognition  of  valuable  ser- 
vices. .  .  .  Best  thing — best  thing  to  do." 

And  he  believed!  What  credulity!  What  an  ass! 
Hudig  knew  the  father!  Rather.  And  so  did  every- 
body else  probably;  all  except  himself.  How  proud 
he  had  been  of  Hudig's  benevolent  interest  in  his  fate! 
How  proud  he  was  when  invited  by  Hudig  to  stay 
with  him  at  his  little  house  in  the  country — where  he 
could  meet  men,  men  of  official  position — as  a  friend. 
Vinck  had  been  green  with  envy-  Oh,  yes!  He  had 
believed  in  the  best  thing,  and  took  the  girl  like  a  gift 
of  fortune.  How  he  boasted  to  Hudig  of  being  free] 
from  prejudices.  The  old  scoundrel  must  have  been 
laughing  in  his  sleeve  at  his  fool  of  a  confidential  clerk. 
He  took  the  girl,  guessing  nothing  How  could  he? 
There  had  been  a  father  of  some  kind  to  the  common 


32  AN   OUTCAST  OF   THE   ISLANDS. 

knowledge.  Men  knew  him;  spoke  about  him.  A 
lank  man  of  hopelessly  mixed  descent,  but  otherwise 
— apparently — unobjectionable.  The  shady  relations 
came  out  afterwards,  but — with  his  freedom  from 
prejudices — he  did  not  mind  them,  because,  with  their 
humble  dependence,  they  completed  his  triumphant 
life.  Taken  in!  taken  in!  Hudig  had  found  an  easy 
way  to  provide  for  the  begging  crowd.  He  had  shifted 
the  burden  of  his  youthful  vagaries  on  to  the  shoulders 
of  his  confidential  clerk;  and  while  he  worked  for  the 
master,  the  master  had  cheated  him;  had  stolen  his 
very  self  from  him.  He  was  married.  He  belonged 
to  that  woman,  no  matter  what  she  might  do!  .  .  . 
Had  sworn  ...  for  all  life!  .  .  .  Thrown  himself 
away.  .  .  .  And  that  man  dared  this  very  morning 
call  him  a  thief!    Damnation! 

'*  Let  go,  Lingard!"  he  shouted,  trying  to  get 
away  by  a  sudden  jerk  from  the  watchful  old  seaman. 
"  Let  me  go  and  kill  that  .  .  ." 

"No  you  don't!"  panted  Lingard,  hanging  on 
manfully.  ''  You  want  to  kill,  do  you?  You  lunatic. 
Ah! — I've  got  you  now!     Be  quiet,  I  say!  " 

They  struggled  violently,  Lingard  forcing  Willems 
slowly  toward  the  guard-rail.  Under  their  feet  the 
jetty  sounded  like  a  drum  in  the  quiet  night.  On  the 
shore  end  the  native  caretaker  of  the  wharf  watched 
the  combat,  squatting  behind  the  safe  shelter  of  some 
big  cases.  The  next  day  he  informed  his  friends,  with 
calm  satisfaction,  that  two  drunken  white  men  had 
fought  on  the  jetty.  It  had  been  a  great  fight.  They 
fought  without  arms,  like  wild  beasts,  after  the  manner 
of  white  men.  No!  nobody  was  killed,  or  there  would 
have  been  trouble  and  a  report  to  make.  How  could 
he  know  why  they  fought?  White  men  have  no  rea- 
son when  they  are  like  that. 

Just  as  Lingard  was  beginning  to  fear  that  he 
would  be  unable  to  restrain  much  longer  the  violence 


AN   OUTCAST   OF   THE   ISLANDS. 


33 


of  the  younger  man,  he  felt  Willems'  muscles  relax- 
ing, and  took  advantage  of  this  opportunity  to  pin  him, 
by  a  last  effort,  to  the  rail.  They  both  panted  heavily, 
speechless,  their  faces  very  close. 

"  All  right,"  muttered  Willems  at  last.  ''  Don't 
break  my  back  over  this  infernal  rail.    I  will  be  quiet." 

"  Now  you  are  reasonable,"  said  Lingard,  much 
reheved.  ''What  made  you  fly  into  that  passion?" 
he  asked,  leading  him  back  to  the  end  of  the  jetty, 
and,  still  holding  him  prudently  with  one  hand,  he 
fumbled  with  the  other  for  his  whistle  and  blew  a  shrill 
and  prolonged  blast.  Over  the  smooth  water  of  the 
roadstead  came  in  answer  a  faint  cry  from  one  of  the 
ships  at  anchor. 

"  My  boat  will  be  here  directly,"  said  Lingard. 
"  Think  of  what  you  are  going  to  do.    I  sail  to-night." 

*'  What  is  there  for  me  to  do,  except  one  thing?" 
said  Willems,  gloomily. 

"  Look  here,"  said  Lingard;  "  I  picked  you  up  as 
a  boy,  and  consider  myself  responsible  for  you  in  a 
way.  You  took  your  life  into  your  own  hands  many 
years  ago — but  still  .  .  ." 

He  paused,  listening,  till  he  heard  the  regular  grind 
of  the  oars  in  the  rowlocks  of  the  approaching  boat, 
then  went  on  again. 

"  I  have  made  it  all  right  with  Hudig.  You  owe 
him  nothing  now.  Go  back  to  your  wife.  She  is  a 
good  woman.    Go  back  to  her." 

**  Why,  Captain  Lingard,"  exclaimed  Willems, 
"she  .  .  ." 

"  It  was  most  affecting,"  went  on  Lingard,  without 
heeding  him.  "  I  went  to  your  house  to  look  for  you 
and  there  I  saw  her  despair.  It  was  heart-breaking. 
She  called  for  you ;  she  entreated  me  to  find  you.  She 
spoke  wildly,  poor  woman,  as  if  all  this  was  her  fault." 

Willems  Hstened  amazed.  The  blind  old  idiot! 
How  queerly  he  misunderstood!     But  if  it  was  true, 


34  AN   OUTCAST   OF   THE   ISLANDS. 

if  it  was  even  true,  the  very  idea  of  seeing  her  filled 
his  soul  with  intense  loathing.  He  did  not  break  his 
oath,  but  he  would  not  go  back  to  her.  Let  hers  Be 
the  sin  of  that  separation;  of  the  sacred  bond  broken. 
He  revelled  in  the  extreme  purity  of  his  heart,  and  he 
would  not  go  back  to  her.  Let  her  come  back  to  him. 
He  had  the  comfortable  conviction  that  he  would  never 
see  her  again,  and  that  through  her  own  fault  only. 
In  this  conviction  he  told  himself  solemnly  that  if  she 
would  come  to  him  he  would  receive  her  with  gener- 
ous forgiveness,  because  such  was  the  praiseworthy 
solidity  of  his  principles.  But  he  hesitated  whether 
he  would  or  would  not  disclose  to  Lingard  the  revolt- 
ing completeness  of  his  humiliation.  Turned  out  of 
his  house — and  by  his  wife;  that  woman  who  hardly 
dared  to  breathe  in  his  presence,  yesterday.  He  re- 
mained perplexed  and  silent.  No.  He  lacked  the 
courage  to  tell  the  ignoble  story. 

As  the  boat  of  the  brig  appeared  suddenly  on  the 
black  water  close  to  the  jetty,  Lingard  broke  the  pain- 
ful silence. 

''  I  always  thought,"  he  said,  sadly,  *'  I  always 
thought  you  were  somewhat  heartless,  Willems,  and 
apt  to  cast  adrift  those  that  thought  most  of  you.  I 
appeal  to  what  is  best  in  you;  do  not  abandon  that 
woman." 

''  I  have  not  abandoned  her,"  answered  Willems, 
quickly,  with  conscious  truthfulness.  "  Why  should 
I?  As  you  so  justly  observed,  she  has  been  a  good 
wife  to  me.  A  very  good,  quiet,  obedient,  loving 
wife,  and  I  love  her  as  much  as  she  loves  me.  Every 
bit.  But  as  to  going  back  now,  to  that  place  where 
I  ...  To  walk  again  amongst  those  men  who  yes- 
terday were  ready  to  crawl  before  me,  and  then  feel 
on  my  back  the  sting  of  their  pitying  or  satisfied  smiles 
— no!  I  can't.  I  would  rather  hide  from  them  at  the 
bottom  of  the  sea,"  he  went  on,  with  resolute  energy. 


AN    OUTCAST   OF   THE   ISLANDS.  35 

"  I  don't  think,  Captain  Lingard,"  he  added,  more 
quietly,  "  I  don't  think  that  you  reahse  what  my  posi- 
tion was  there." 

In  a  wide  sweep  of  his  hand  he  took  in  the  sleeping 
sliore  from  north  to  south,  as  if  wishing  it  a  proud  and 
threatening  good-bye.  For  a  short  moment  he  forgot 
his  downfall  in  the  recollection  of  his  brilliant  triumphs. 
Amongst  the  men  of  his  class  and  occupation  who 
slept  in  those  dark  houses  he  had  been  indeed  the  first. 

"  It  is  hard,"  muttered  Lingard,  pensively.  "  But 
whose  the  fault?    Whose  the  fault?" 

''Captain  Lingard!"  cried  Willems,  under  the 
sudden  impulse  of  a  felicitous  inspiration,  "  if  you  leave 
me  here  on  this  jetty — it's  murder.  I  shall  never  re- 
turn to  that  place  alive,  wife  or  no  wife.  You  may  just 
as  well  cut  my  throat  at  once." 

The  old  seaman  started. 

"  Don't  try  to  frighten  me,  Willems,"  he  said,  with 
great  severity,  and  paused. 

Above  the  accents  of  Willems'  brazen  despair  he 
heard,  with  considerable  uneasiness,  thg^^whisp^  of  his 
gy^n  absurd  conscienjC£.  He  meditated  for  awhile  with 
an  irresolute  air. 

"  I  could  tell  you  to  go  and  drown  yourself,  and  be 
damned  to  you,"  he  said,  with  an  unsuccessful  assump- 
tion of  brutality  in  his  manner,  "  but  I  won't.  We 
are  responsible  for  one  another — worse  luck.  I  am 
almost  ashamed  of  myself,  but  I  can  understand  your 
dirty  pride.     I  can!     By  .  .  ." 

He  broke  ofif  with  a  loud  sigh  and'  walked  briskly 
to  the  steps,  at  the  bottom  of  which  lay  his  boat,  rising 
and  falling  gently  on  the  slight  and  invisible  swell. 

"  Below  there!  Got  a  lamp  in  the  boat?  Well, 
Hght  it  and  bring  it  up,  one  of  you.     Hurry  now!  " 

He  tore  out  a  page  of  his  pocket-book,  moistened 
his  pencil  with  great  energy  and  waited,  stamping  his 
feet  impatiently. 


36  AN   OUTCAST   OF   THE   ISLANDS. 

"  I  will  see  this  thing  through,"  he  muttered  to 
himself.  "  And  I  will  have  it  all  square  and  shipshape; 
see  if  I  don't!  Are  you  going  to  bring  that  lamp,  you 
son  of  a  crippled  mud-turtle?     I  am  waiting." 

The  gleam  of  the  light  on  the  paper  placated  his 
professional  anger,  and  he  wrote  rapidly,  the  final  dash 
of  his  signature  curling  the  paper  up  in  a  triangular 
tear. 

'*  Take  that  to  this  white  Tuan's  house.  I  will  send 
the  boat  back  for  you  in  half  an  hour." 

The  coxswain  raised  his  lamp  deliberately  to  Wil- 
lems'  face. 

*' This  Tuan?    Tau!     I  know." 

"Quick  then!"  said  Lingard,  taking  the  lamp 
from  him — and  the  man  went  off  at  a  run. 

"  Kassi  mem!  To  the  lady  herself,"  called  Lin- 
gard after  him. 

Then,  when  the  man  disappeared,  he  turned  to 
Willems. 

"  I  have  written  to  your  wife,"  he  said.  "  If  you 
do  not  return  for  good,  you  do  not  go  back  to  that 
house  only  for  another  parting.  You  must  come  as 
you  stand.  I  won't  have  that  poor  woman  tormented. 
I  will  see  to  it  that  you  are  not  separated  for  long. 
Trust  me  !" 

Willems  shivered,  then  smiled  in  the  darkness. 

"  No  fear  of  that,"  he  muttered,  enigmatically.  "  I 
trust  you  implicitly.  Captain  Lingard,"  he  added,  in 
a  louder  tone. 

Lingard  led  the  way  down  the  steps,  swinging  the 
lamp  and  speaking  over  his  shoulder. 

"  It  is  the  second  time,  Willems,  I  take  you  in  hand. 
Mind  it  is  the  last.  The  second  time;  and  the  only 
difference  between  then  and  now  is  that  you  were 
barefooted  then  and  have  boots  now.  In  fourteen 
years.  With  all  your  smartness!  A  poor  recult  that. 
A  very  poor  result." 


AN   OUTCAST   OF   THE    ISLANDS. 


37 


He  stood  for  awhile  on  the  lowest  platform  of  the 
steps,  the  light  of  the  lamp  falling  on  the  upturned 
face  of  the  stroke  oar,  who  held  the  gunwale  of  the 
boat  close  alongside,  ready  for  the  captain  to  step  in. 

"  You  see,"  he  went  on,  argumentatively,  fumbling 
about  the  top  of  the  lamp,  "  you  got  yourself  so 
crooked  amongst  those  'longshore  quill-drivers  that 
you  could  not  run  clear  in  any  way.  That's  what 
comes  of  such  talk  as  yours,  and  of  such  a  life.  A 
man  sees  so  much  falsehood  that  he  begins  to  lie  to 
himself.  Pah!  "  he  said,  in  disgust,  "  there's  only  one 
place  for  an  honest  man.  The  sea,  my  boy,  the  sea! 
But  you  never  would;  didn't  think  there  was  enough 
money  in  it;  and  now — look!  " 

He  blew  the  light  out,  and,  stepping  into  the  boat, 
stretched  quickly  his  hand  towards  Willems,  with 
friendly  care.  Willems  sat  by  him  in  silence,  and  the 
boat  shoved  off,  sweeping  in  a  wide  circle  towards  the 
brig. 

"  Your  compassion  is  all  for  my  wife.  Captain  Lin- 
gard,"  said  Willems,  moodily.  "  Do  you  think  I  am 
so  very  happy? " 

"  No!  no!  "  said  Lingard,  heartily.  "  Not  a  word 
more  shall  pass  my  Hps.  I  had  to  speak  my  mind  once, 
seeing  that  I  knew  you  from  a  child,  so  to  speak.  And 
now  I  shall  forget;  but  you  are  young  yet.  Life  is 
very  long,"  he  went  on,  with  unconscious  sadness; 
"  let  this  be  a  lesson  to  you." 

He  laid  his  hand  affectionately  on  Willems'  shoul- 
der, and  they  both  sat  silent  till  the  boat  came  along- 
side the  ship's  ladder. 

When  on  board  Lingard  gave  orders  to  his  mate, 
and  leading  Willems  on  the  poop,  sat  on  the  breech 
of  one  of  the  brass  six-pounders  with  which  his  vessel 
was  armed.  The  boat  went  off  again  to  bring  back 
the  messenger.  As  soon  as  it  was  seen  returning  dark 
forms  appeared  on  the  brig's  spars;  then  the  sails  fell 


38  AN  OUTCAST  OF  THE   ISLANDS. 

in  festoons  with  a  swish  of  their  heavy  folds,  and  hung 
motionless  under  the  yards  in  the  dead  calm  of  the 
clear  and  dewy  night.  From  the  forward  end  came 
the  clink  of  the  windlass,  and  soon  afterwards  the  hail 
of  the  chief  mate  informing  Lingard  that  the  cable  was 
hove  short. 

"  Hold  on  everything,"  hailed  back  Lingard;  "  we 
must  wait  for  the  land-breeze  before  we  let  go  our 
hold  of  the  ground." 

He  approached  Willems,  who  sat  on  the  skylight, 
his  body  bent  down,  his  head  low,  and  his  hands  hang- 
ing listlessly  between  his  knees. 

"  I  am  going  to  take  you  to  Sambir,"  he  said. 
"  You've  never  heard  of  the  place,  have  you?  Well, 
it's  up  that  river  of  mine  about  which  people  talk  so 
much  and  know  so  little.  I've  found  out  the  entrance 
for  a  ship  of  Flash's  size.  It  isn't  easy.  You'll  see. 
I  will  show  you.  You  have  been  at  sea  long  enough 
to  take  an  interest.  .  .  .  Pity  you  didn't  stick  to  it. 
Well,  I  am  going  there.  I  have  my  own  trading  post 
in  the  place.  Almayer  is  my  partner.  You  knew  him 
when  he  was  at  Hudig's.  Oh,  he  lives  there  as  happy 
as  a  king.  D'ye  see,  I  have  them  all  in  my  pocket. 
The  rajah  is  an  old  friend  of  mine.  My  word  is  law 
— and  I  am  the  only  trader.  No  other  white  man  but 
Almayer  had  ever  been  in  that  settlement.  You  will 
live  quietly  there  till  I  come  back  from  my  next  cruise 
to  the  westward.  We  shall  see  then  what  can  be 
done  for  you.  Never  fear.  I  have  no  doubt  my  secret 
will  be  safe  with  you.  Keep  mum  about  my  river  when 
you  get  amongst  the  traders  again.  There's  many 
would  give  their  ears  for  the  knowledge  of  it.  I'll 
tell  you  something:  that's  where  I  get  all  my  guttah 
and  rattans.     Simply  inexhaustible,  my  boy." 

While  Lingard  spoke  Willems  looked  up  quickly, 
but  soon  his  head  fell  on  his  breast  in  the  discouraging 
certitude  that  the  knowledge  he  and  Hudig  had  wished 


AN   OUTCAST   OF   THE   ISLANDS.  39 

for  SO  much  had  come  tc  him  too  late.    He  sat  in  a 
listless  attitude. 

"  You  will  help  Almayer  in  his  trading  if  you  have 
a  heart  for  it,"  continued  Lingard,  ''  just  to  kill  time 
till  I  come  back  for  you.     Only  six  weeks  or  so." 

Over  their  heads  the  damp  sails  fluttered  noisily  in 
the  first  faint  puff  of  the  breeze;  then,  as  the  airs  fresh- 
ened, the  brig  tended  to  the  wind,  and  the  silenced 
canvas  lay  quietly  aback.  The  mate  spoke  with  low 
distinctness  from  the  shadows  of  the  quarter-deck. 

''  There's  the  breeze.  Which  way  do  you  want 
to  cast  her  head.  Captain  Lingard?  " 

Lingard's  eyes,  that  had  been  fixed  aloft,  glanced 
down  at  the  dejected  figure  of  the  man  sitting  on  the 
skylight.     He  seemed  to  hesitate  for  a  minute. 

"  To  the  northward,  to  the  northward,"  he  an- 
swered, testily,  as  if  annoyed  at  his  own  fleeting 
thought,  "  and  bear  a  hand  there.  Every  puff  of  wind 
is  worth  money  in  these  seas." 

He  remained  motionless,  listening  to  the  rattle  of 
blocks  and  the  creaking  of  trusses  as  the  head-yards 
were  hauled  round.  Sail  was  made  on  the  ship  and 
the  windlass  manned  again  while  he  stood  still,  lost  in 
thought.  He  only  roused  himself  when  a  barefooted 
seacannie  glided  past  him  silently  on  his  way  to  the 
wheel. 

''Put  the  helm  aport!  Hard  over!"  he  said,  in 
his  harsh  sea-voice,  to  the  man  whose  face  appeared 
suddenly  out  of  the  darkness  in  the  circle  of  light 
thrown  upwards  from  the  binnacle  lamps. 

The  anchor  was  secured,  the  yards  trimmed,  and 
the  brig  began  to  move  out  of  the  roadstead.  The 
sea  woke  up  under  the  push  of  the  sharp  cutwater, 
and  whispered  softly  to  the  gliding  craft  in  that  tender 
and  rippling  murmur  in  which  it  speaks  sometimes  to 
those  it  nurses  and  loves.  Lingard  stood  by  the  taff- 
rail  listening,  with  a  pleased  smile  till  the  Flash  began 


I 

40  AN   OUTCAST   OF    THE   ISLANDS.  ^ 

to  draw  close  to  the  only  other  vessel  in  the  anchor- 
age. 

"  Here,  Willems,"  he  said,  calling  him  to  his  side, 
"  d'ye  see  that  barque  here?  That's  an  Arab  vessel. 
White  men  have  mostly  given  up  the  game,  but  this 
fellow  drops  in  my  wake  often,  and  lives  in  hopes  of 
cutting  me  out  in  that  settlement.  Not  while  I  live, 
I  trust.  You  see,  Willems,  I  brought  prosperity  to 
that  place.  I  composed  their  quarrels,  and  saw  them 
grow  under  my  eyes.  There's  peace  and  happiness 
there.  I  am  more  master  there  than  his  Dutch  Ex- 
cellency down  in  Batavia  ever  will  be  when  some  day 
a  lazy  man-of-war  blunders  at  last  against  the  river. 
I  mean  to  keep  the  Arabs  out  of  it,  with  their  lies  and 
their  intrigues.  I  shall  keep  the  venomous  breed  out, 
if  it  costs  me  my  fortune." 

The  Flash  drew  quietly  abreast  of  the  barque,  and 
was  beginning  to  drop  it  astern  when  a  white  hgure 
started  up  on  the  poop  of  the  Arab  vessel,  and  a  voice 
called  out — 

''  Greeting  to  the  Rajah  Laut!  " 

*' To  you  greeting!"  answered  Lingard,  after  a 
moment  of  hesitating  surprise.  Then  he  turned  to 
Willems  with  a  grim  smile.  "  That's^AbdullaJs  voice," 
he  said.  "  Mighty  civil  all  of  a  sudden,  isn't  he?  I 
wonder  what  it  means.  Just  like  his  impudence!  No 
matter!  His  civility  or  his  impudence  are  all  one  to 
me.  I  know  that  this  fellow  will  be  under  way  and  after 
me  like  a  shot.  I  don't  care!  I  have  the  heels  of  any- 
thing that  floats  in  these  seas,"  he  added,  while  his 
proud  and  loving  glance  ran  over  and  rested  fondly 
amongst  the  brig's  lofty  and  graceful  spars. 


AN   OUTCAST   OF   THE   ISLANDS.  41 

V.      - 

"  It  was  the  writing  on  his  forehead,"  said  Baba- 
iaichi,  adding  a  couple  of  small  sticks  to  the  Httle  fire 
by  which  he  was  squatting,  and  without  looking  at 
Lakamba  who  lay  down  supported  on  his  elbow  on 
the  other  side  of  the  embers.  "  It  was  written  when 
he  was  born  that  he  should  end  his  life  in  darkness, 
and  now  he  is  like  a  man  walking  in  a  black  night — 
with  his  eyes  open,  yet  seeing  not.  I  knew  him  well 
when  he  had  slaves,  and  many  wives,  and"  much  mer- 
chandise, and  trading  praus,  and  praus  for  fighting. 
Hay — ya!  He  was  a  great  fighter  in  the  days  before 
the  breath  of  the  Merciful  put  out  the  light  in  his  eyes. 
He  was  a  pilgrim,  and  had  many  virtues:  he  was 
brave,  his  hand  was  open,  and  he  was  a  great  robber. 
For  many  years  he  led  the  men  that  drank  blood  on  the 
sea:  first  in  prayer  and  first  in  fight!  Have  I  not 
stood  behind  him  when  his  face  was  turned  to  the 
West?  Have  I  not  watched  by  his  side  ships  with  high 
masts  burning  in  a  straight  flame  on  the  calm  water? 
Have  I  not  followed  him  on  dark  nights  amongst 
sleeping  men  that  woke  up  only  to  die?  His  sword 
was  swifter  than  the  fire  from  Heaven,  and  struck  be- 
fore it  flashed.  Ha'i!  Tuan!  Those  were  the  days 
and  that  was  a  leader,  and  I  myself  was  younger;  and 
in  those  days  there  were  not  so  many  fireships  with 
guns  that  deal  fiery  death  from  afar.  Over  the  hill  and 
over  the  forest— 6 !  Tuan  Lakamba!  they  dropped 
whistling  fireballs  into  the  creek  where  our  praus  took 
refuge,  and  where  they  dared  not  follow  men  who  had 
arms  in  their  hands." 

He  shook  his  head  with  mournful  regret  and  threw 
another  handful  of  fuel  on  the  fire.  The  burst  of  clear 
flame  lit  up  his  broad,  dark,  and  pock-marked  face, 
where  the  big  lips,  stained  with  betel-juice,  looked 


42  AN   OUTCAST   OF    THE    ISLANDS. 

like  a  deep  and  bleeding  gash  of  a  fresh  wound.  The 
reflection  of  the  firelight  gleamed  brightly  in  his  soli- 
tary eye,  lending  it  for  a  moment  a  fierce  animation 
that  died  out  together  with  the  short-lived  flame. 
With  quick  touches  of  his  bare  hands  he  raked  the 
embers  into  a  heap,  then,  wiping  the  warm  ash  on  his 
waistcloth — his  only  garment — he  clasped  his  thin  legs 
with  his  entwined  fingers,  and  rested  his  chin  on  his 
drawn-up  knees.  Lakamba  stirred  slightly  without 
changing  his  position  or  taking  his  eyes  ofif  the  glow- 
ing coals,  on  which  they  had  been  fixed  in  dreamy 
immobility. 

"  Yes,"  went  on  Babalatchi,  in  a  low  monotone,  as 
if  pursuing  aloud  a  train  of  thought  that  had  its  begin- 
ning in  the  silent  contemplation  of  the  unstable  nature 
of  earthly  greatness — "  yes.  He  has  been  rich  and 
strong,  and  now  he  lives  on  alms:  old,  feeble,  blind 
and  without  companions,  but  for  his  daughter.  The 
Rajah  Patalolo  gives  him  rice,  and  the  pale  woman — 
his  daughter — cooks  it  for  him,  for  he  has  no  slave." 

**  I  saw  her  from  afar,"  muttered  Lakamba,  dis- 
paragingly. **  A  she-dog  with  white-teeth,  like  a 
woman  of  the  Orang-Putih." 

''Right,  right,"  assented  Babalatchi;  "but  you 
have  not  seen  her  near.  Her  mother  was  a  woman 
from  the  west;  a  Baghdad!  woman  with  veiled  face. 
Now  she  goes  uncovered,  like  our  women  do,  for  she 
is  poor  and  he  is  blind,  and  nobody  ever  comes  near 
them  unless  to  ask  for  a  charm  or  a  blessing  and  de- 
part quickly  for  fear  of  his  anger  and  of  the  Rajah's 
hand.    You  have  not  been  on  that  side  of  the  river? " 

"  Not  for  a  long  time.    If  I  go  .  .  ." 

''True!  true!"  interrupted  Babalatchi,  soothing- 
ly, "  but  I  go  often  alone — for  your  good — and  look — 
and  listen.  When  the  time  comes;  when  we  both  go 
together  towards  the  Rajah's  campong,  it  will  be  to 
enter — and  to  remain." 


AN    OUTCAST   OF   THE   ISLANDS.  43 

Lakamba  sat  up  and  looked  at  Babalatchi  gloomily. 

''This  is  good  talk,  once,  twice;  when  it  is  heard 
too  often  it  becomes  foolish,  like  the  prattle  of  chil- 
dren." 

"  Many,  many  times  have  I  seen  the  cloudy  sky  and 
have  heard  the  wind  of  the  rainy  seasons,"  said  Baba- 
latchi, impressively. 

"  And  where  is  your  wisdom?  It  must  be  with 
the  wind  and  the  clouds  of  seasons  past,  for  I  do  not 
hear  it  in  your  talk." 

"  Those  are  the  words  of  the  ungrateful!  "  shouted 
Babalatchi,  with  sudden  exasperation.  "  Verily,  our 
only  refuge  is  with  the  One,  the  Mighty,  the  Re- 
dresser  of  .  .  ." 

"Peace!  peace!"  growled  the  startled  Lakamba. 
"  It  is  but  a  friend's  talk." 

Babalachi  subsided  into  his  former  attitude,  mut- 
tering to  himself.  After  awhile  he  went  on  again  in  a 
louder  voice — 

"  Since  the  Rajah  Laut  left  another  white  man  here 
in  Sambir,  the  daughter  of  the  bhnd  Omar  el  Badavi 
has  spoken  to  other  ears  than  mine." 

"  Would  a  white  man  listen  to  a  beggar's  daugh- 
ter? "  said  Lakamba,  doubtingly. 

"  Ha'i !     I  have  seen  .  .  ." 

"And  what  did  you  see?  O  one-eyed  one!"  ex- 
claimed Lakamba,  contemptuously. 

"  I  have  seen  the  strange  white  man  walking  on 
the  narrow  path  before  the  sun  could  dry  the  drops  of 
dew  on  the  bushes,  and  I  have  heard  the  whisper  of 
his  voice  when  he  spoke  through  the  smoke  of  the 
morning  fire  to  that  woman  with  big  eyes  and  a  pale 
skin.  Woman  in  body,  but  in  heart  a  man!  She 
knows  no  fear  and  no  shame.  I  have  heard  her  voice 
too." 

He  nodded  twice  at  Lakamba  sagaciously  and  gave 
himself  up  to  silent  musing,  his  solitary  eye  fixed  im- 


44  AN   OUTCAST   OF   THE   ISLANDS. 

movably  upon  the  straight  wall  of  forest  on  the  oppo- 
site bank.  Lakamba  lay  silent,  staring  vacantly. 
Under  them  Lingard's  own  river  rippled  softly 
amongst  the  piles  supporting  the  bamboo  platform  of 
the  little  watch-house  before  which  they  were  lying. 
Behind  the  house  the  ground  rose  in  a  gentle  swell  of 
a  low  hill  cleared  of  the  big  timber,  but  thickly  over- 
grown with  the  grass  and  bushes,  now  withered  and 
burnt  up  in  the  long  drought  of  the  dry  season.  This 
old  rice  clearing,  which  had  been  several  years  lying 
fallow,  was  framed  on  three  sides  by  the  impenetrable 
and  tangled  growth  of  the  untouched  forest,  and  on 
the  fourth  came  down  to  the  muddy  river  bank. 
There  was  not  a  breath  of  wind  on  the  land  or  river, 
but  high  above,  in  the  transparent  sky,  little  clouds 
rus^.ed  past  the  moon,  now  appearing  in  her  diffused 
rays  with  the  brilliance  of  silver,  now  obscuring  her 
face  with  the  blackness  of  ebony.  Far  away,  in  the 
middle  of  the  river,  a  fish  would  leap  now  and  then 
with  a  short  splash,  the  very  loudness  of  which  meas- 
ured the  profundity  of  the  overpowering  silence  that 
swallowed  up  the  sharp  sound  suddenly. 

Lakamba  dozed  uneasily  oflf,  but  the  wakeful  Baba- 
latchi  sat  thinking  deeply,  sighing  from  time  to  time, 
and  slapping  himself  over  his  naked  torso  incessantly 
in  a  vain  endeavour  to  keep  off  an  occasional  and 
wandering  mosquito  that,  rising  as  high  as  the  plat- 
form above  the  swarms  of  the  riverside,  would  settle 
with  a  ping  of  triumph  on  the  unexpected  victim.  The 
moon,  pursuing  her  silent  and  toilsome  path,  attained 
her  highest  elevation,  and  chasing  the  shadow  of  the 
roof-eaves  from  Lakamba's  face,  seemed  to  hang  ar- 
rested over  their  heads.  Babalatchi  revived  the  fire 
and  woke  up  his  companion,  who  sat  up  yawning  and 
shivering  discontentedly. 

Babalatchi  spoke  again  in  a  voice  which  was  like 
the  murmur  of  a  brook  that  runs  over  the  stones: 


AN   OUTCAST   OF   THE    ISLANDS.  45 

low,  monotonous,  persistent;  irresistible  in  its  power 
to  wear  out  and  to  destroy  the  hardest  obstacles.  La- 
kamba  listened,  silent  but  interested.  They  were 
Malay  adventurers;  ambitious  men  of  that  place  and 
time;  the  Bohemians  of  their  race.  In  the  early  days 
of  the  settlement,  before  the  ruler  Patalolo  had  shaken 
ofif  his  allegiance  to  the  Sultan  of  Koti,  Lakamba 
appeared  in  the  river  with  two  small  trading  vessels. 
He  was  disappointed  to  find  already  some  semblance 
of  organisation  amongst  the  settlers  of  various  races 
who  recognised  the  unobtrusive  sway  of  old  Patalolo, 
and  he  was  not  politic  enough  to  conceal  his  disap- 
pointment. He  declared  himself  to  be  a  man  from 
the  east,  from  those  parts  where  no  white  man  ruled, 
and  to  be  of  an  oppressed  race,  but  of  a  princely  family. 
And  truly  enough  he  had  all  the  gifts  of  an  exiled 
prince.  He  was  discontented,  ungrateful,  turbulent; 
a  man  full  of  envy  and  ready  for  intrigue,  with  brave 
words  and  empty  promises  for  ever  on  his  lips.  He 
was  obstinate,  but  his  will  was  made  up  of  short  im- 
pulses that  never  lasted  long  enough  to  carry  him  to 
the  goal  of  his  ambition.  Received  coldly  by  the  sus- 
picious Patalolo,  he  persisted — permission  or  no  per- 
mission— in  clearing  the  ground  on  a  good  spot  some 
fourteen  miles  down  the  river  from  Sambir,  and  built 
himself  a  house  there,  which  he  fortified  by  a  high 
palisade.  As  he  had  many  followers  and  seemed  very 
reckless,  the  old  Rajah  did  not  think  it  prudent  at 
the  time  to  interfere  with  him  by  force.  Once  settled, 
he  began  to  intrigue.  The  quarrel  of  Patalolo  with 
the  Sultan  of  Koti  was  of  his  fomenting,  but  failed  to 
produce  the  result  he  expected  because  the  Sultan 
could  not  back  him  up  effectively  at  such  a  great  dis- 
tance. Disappointed  in  that  scheme,  he  promptly  or- 
ganised an  outbreak  of  the  Bugis  settlers,  and  besieged 
the  old  Rajah  in  his  stockade  with  much  noisy  valour 
and  a  fair  chance  of  success;  but  Lingard  then  ap- 


46  AN   OUTCAST   OF   THE    ISLANDS. 

peared  on  the  scene  with  the  armed  brig,  and  the  old 
seaman's  hairy  forefinger,  shaken  menacingly  in  his 
face,  quelled  his  martial  ardour.  No  man  cared  to 
encounter  the  Rajah  Laut,  and  Lakamba,  with  mo- 
mentary resignation,  subsided  into  a  half-cultivator, 
half-trader,  and  nursed  in  his  fortified  house  his  wrath 
and  his  ambition,  keeping  it  for  use  on  a  more  pro- 
pitious occasion.  Still  faithful  to  his  character  of  a 
prince-pretender,  he  would  not  recognise  the  consti- 
tuted authorities,  answering  sulkily  the  Rajah's  mes- 
senger, who  claimed  the  tribute  for  the  cultivated 
fields,  that  the  Rajah  had  better  come  and  take  it  him- 
self. By  Lingard's  advice  he  was  left  alone,  notwith- 
standing his  rebellious  mood;  and  for  many  days  he 
lived  undisturbed  amongst  his  wives  and  retainers, 
cherishing  that  persistent  and  causeless  hope  of  better 
times,  the  possession  of  which  seems  to  be  the  uni- 
versal privilege  of  exiled  greatness. 

But  the  passing  days  brought  no  change.  The 
hope  grew  faint  and  the  hot  ambition  burnt  itself  out, 
leaving  only  a  feeble  and  expiring  spark  amongst  a 
heap  of  dull  and  tepid  ashes  of  indolent  acquiescence 
with  the  decrees  of  Fate,  till  Babalatchi  fanned  it  again 
into  a  bright  flame.  Babalatchi  had  blundered  upon 
the  river  while  in  search  of  a  safe  refuge  for  his  dis- 
reputable head.  He  was  a  vagabond  of  the  seas,  a  true 
Orang-Laut,  living  by  rapine  and  plunder  of  coasts 
and  ships  in  his  prosperous  days;  earning  his  living 
by  honest  and  irksome  toil  when  the  days  of  adversity 
were  upon  him.  So,  although  at  times  leading  the 
Sulu  rovers,  he  had  also  served  as  Serang  of  country 
ships,  and  in  that  wise  had  visited  the  distant  seas,  be- 
held the  glories  of  Bombay,  the  might  of  the  IMascati 
Sultan;  had  even  struggled  in  a  pious  throng  for  the 
privilege  of  touching  with  his  Hps  the  Sacred  Stone  of 
the  Holy  City.  He  gathered  experience  and  wisdom 
in  many  lands,  and  after  attaching  himself  to  Omar  el 


AN  OUTCAST  OF   THE   ISLANDS. 


47 


Badavi,  he  affected  great  piety  (as  became  a  pilgrim), 
although  unable  to  read  the  inspired  words  of  the 
Prophet.  He  was  brave  and  bloodthirsty  without  any 
affectation,  and  he  hated  the  white  men  who  interfered 
with  the  manly  pursuits  of  throat-cutting,  kidnapping, 
slave-dealing,  and  fire-raising,  that  were  the  only  pos- 
sible occupation  for  a  true  man  of  the  sea.  He  found 
favour  in  the  eyes  of  his  chief,  the  fearless  Omar  el 
Badavi,  the  leader  of  Brunei  rovers,  whom  he  followed 
with  unquestioning  loyalty  through  the  long  years  of 
successful  depredation.  And  when  that  long  career 
of  murder,  robbery  and  violence  received  its  first  seri- 
ous check  at  the  hands  of  white  men,  he  stood  faith- 
fully by  his  chief,  looked  steadily  at  the  bursting  shells, 
was  undismayed  by  the  flames  of  the  burning  strong- 
hold, by  the  death  of  his  companions,  by  the  shrieks 
of  their  women,  the  waiHng  of  their  children ;  by  the 
sudden  ruin  and  destruction  of  all  that  he  deemed 
indispensable  to  a  happy  and  glorious  existence.  The 
beaten  ground  between  the  houses  was  slippery  with 
blood,  and  the  dark  mangroves  of  the  muddy  creeks 
were  full  of  sighs  of  the  dying  men  who  were  stricken 
down  before  they  could  see  their  enemy.  They  died 
helplessly,  for  into  the  tangled  forest  there  was  no 
escape,  and  their  swift  praus,  in  which  they  had  so 
often  scoured  the  coast  and  the  seas,  now  wedged  to- 
gether in  the  narrow  creek,  were  burning  fiercely. 
Babalatchi,  with  the  clear  perception  of  the  coming 
end,  devoted  all  his  energies  to  saving  if  it  was  but 
only  one  of  them.  He  succeeded  in  time.  When  the 
end  came  in  the  explosion  of  the  stored  powder-bar- 
rels, he  was  ready  to  look  for  his  chief.  He  found  him 
half  dead  and  totally  blinded,  with  nobody  near  him 
but  his  daughter  A'issa: — the  sons  had  fallen  earlier 
in  the  day,  as  became  men  of  their  courage.  Helped 
by  the  girl  with  the  steadfast  heart,  Babalatchi  car- 
ried Omar  on  board  the  light  prau  and  succeeded  in 


48  AN   OUTCAST   OF   THE   ISLANDS. 

escaping,  but  with  very  few  companions  only.  As  they 
hauled  their  craft  into  the  network  of  dark  and  silent 
creeks,  they  could  hear  the  cheering  of  the  crews  of 
the  man-of-war's  boats  dashing  to  the  attack  of  the 
rover's  village.  A'issa,  sitting  on  the  high  after-deck, 
her  father's  blackened  and  bleeding  head  in  her  lap, 
looked  up  with  fearless  eyes  at  Babalatchi.  "  They 
shall  find  only  smoke,  blood  and  dead  men,  and  women 
mad  with  fear  there,  but  nothing  else  living,"  she  said, 
mournfully.  Babalatchi,  pressing  with  his  right  hand 
the  deep  gash  on  his  shoulder,  answered  sadly:  ''  They 
are  very  strong.  When  we  fight  with  them  we  can 
only  die.  Yet,"  he  added,  menancingly — '*  some  of  us 
still  live!    Some  of  us  still  live!  " 

For  a  short  time  he  dreamed  of  vengeance,  but 
his  dream  was  dispelled  by  the  cold  reception  of  the 
Sultan  of  Sulu,  with  whom  they  sought  refuge  at  first 
and  who  gave  them  only  a  contemptuous  and  grudg- 
ing hospitality.  While  Omar,  nursed  by  A'issa,  was 
recovering  from  his  wounds,  Babalatchi  attended  in- 
dustriously before  the  exalted  Presence  that  had  ex- 
tended to  them  the  hand  of  protection.  For  all  that, 
when  Babalatchi  spoke  into  the  Sultan's  ear  certain 
proposals  of  a  great  and  profitable  raid,  that  was  to 
sweep  the  islands  from  Ternate  to  Acheen,  the  Sultan 
was  very  angry.  "  I  know  you,  you  men  from  the 
west,"  he  exclaimed,  angrily.  "  Your  words  are  poison 
in  a  Ruler's  ears.  Your  talk  is  of  fire  and  murder  and 
booty — but  on  our  heads  falls  the  vengeance  of  the 
blood  you  drink.     Begone!  " 

There  was  nothing  to  be  done.  Times  were 
changed.  So  changed  that,  when  a  Spanish  frigate 
appeared  before  the  island  and  a  demand  was  sent  to 
the  Sultan  to  deliver  Omar  and  his  companions,  Baba- 
latchi was  not  surprised  to  hear  that  they  were  going 
to  be  made  the  victims  of  political  expediency.  But 
from  that  sane  appreciation  of  danger  to  tame  sub- 


AN   OUTCAST   OF   THE   ISLANDS.  49 

mission  was  a  very  long  step.  And  then  began  Omar's 
second  flight.  It  began  arms  in  hand,  for  the  Httle 
band  had  to  fight  in  the  night  on  the  beach  for  the 
possession  of  the  small  canoes  in  which  those  that  sur- 
vived got  away  at  last.  The  story  of  that  escape  lives 
in  the  hearts  of  brave  men  even  to  this  day.  They  talk 
of  Babalatchi  and  of  the  strong  woman  who  carried 
her  blind  father  through  the  surf  under  the  fire  of  the 
warship  from  the  north.  The  companions  of  that 
piratical  and  son-less  ^neas  are  dead  now,  but  their 
ghosts  wander  over  the  waters  and  the  islands  at  night 
—after  the  manner  of  ghosts — and  haunt  the  fires  by 
which  sit  armed  men,  as  is  meet  for  the  spirits  of  fear- 
less warriors  who  died  in  battle.  There  they  may  hear 
the  story  of  their  own  deeds,  of  their  own  courage, 
suffering  and  death,  on  the  lips  of  living  men.  That 
story  is  told  in  many  places.  On  the  cool  mats  in 
breezy  verandahs  of  Rajahs'  houses  il  is  alluded  to 
disdainfully  by  impassible  statesmen,  but  amongst 
armed  men  that  throng  the  courtyards  it  is  a  tale  w^iich 
stills  the  murmur  of  voices  and  the  tinkle  of  anklets; 
arrests  the  passage  of  the  siri-vessel,  and  fixes  the  eyes 
in  absorbed  gaze.  They  talk  of  the  fight,  of  the  fear- 
less woman,  of  the  wise  man ;  of  long  suffering  on  the 
thirsty  sea  in  leaky  canoes;  of  those  who  died.  .  .  . 
Many  died.  A  few  survived.  The  chief,  the  woman, 
and  another  one  who  became  great. 

There  was  no  hint  of  incipient  greatness  in  Baba- 
latchi's  unostentatious  arrival  in  Sambir.  He  came 
with  Omar  and  Aissa  in  a  small  prau  loaded  with  green 
cocoanuts,  and  claimed  the  ownership  of  both  vessel 
and  cargo.  How  it  came  to  pass  that  Babalatchi,  flee- 
ing for  his  life  in  a  small  canoe,  managed  to  end  his 
hazardous  journey  in  a  vessel  full  of  a  valuable  com- 
modity, is  one  of  those  secrets  of  the  sea  that  baffle 
the  most  searching  inquiry.  In  truth  nobody  inquired 
much.    There  were  rumours  of  a  missino^  trading  prau 


50 


AN   OUTCAST   OF   THE    ISLANDS. 


belonging  to  Menado,  but  they  were  vague  and  re- 
mained mysterious.  Babalatchi  told  a  story  which — 
it  must  be  said  in  justice  to  Patalolo's  knowledge^  of 
the  world — was  not  believed.  When  the  Rajah  ven- 
tured to  state  his  doubts,  Babalatchi  asked  him  in 
tones  of  calm  remonstrance  whether  he  could  rea- 
sonably suppose  that  two  oldish  men — who  had  only 
one  eye  amongst  them — and  a  young  woman  were 
likely  to  gain  possession  of  anything  whatever  by  vio- 
lence? Charity  was  a  virtue  recommended  by  the 
Prophet.  There  were  charitable  people,  and  their  hand 
was  open  to  the  deserving.  Patalolo  wagged  his  aged 
head  doubtingly,  and  Babalatchi  withdrew  with  a 
shocked  mien  and  put  himself  forthwith  under  Lakam- 
'ba's  protection.  The  two  men  who  completed  the 
prau's  crew  followed  him  into  that  magnate's  cam- 
pong.  The  blind  Omar,  with  A'issa,  remained  under 
the  care  of  the  Rajah,  and  the  Rajah  confiscated  the 
cargo.  The  prau  hauled  up  on  the  mud-bank,  at  the 
junction  of  the  two  branches  of  the  Pantai,  rotted  in 
the  rain,  warped  in  the  sun,  fell  to  pieces  and  gradually 
vanished  into  the  smoke  of  household  fires  of  the  set- 
tlement. Only  a  forgotten  plank  and  a  rib  or  two, 
sticking  neglected  in  the  shiny  ooze  for  a  long  time, 
served  to  remind  Babalatchi  during  many  months  that 
he  was  a  stranger  in  the  land. 

Otherwise,  he  felt  perfectly  at  home  in  Lakamba's 
establishment,  where  his  peculiar  position  and  influ- 
ence were  quickly  recognised  and  soon  submitted  to 
even  by  the  women.  He  had  all  a  true  vagabond's  plia- 
bility to  circumstances  and  adaptiveness  to  momentary 
surroundings.  In  his  readiness  to  learn  from  experi- 
ence that  contempt  for  early  principles  so  necessary 
to  a  true  statesman,  he  equalled  the  most  successful 
politicians  of  any  age ;  and  he  had  enough  persuasive- 
ness and  firmness  of  purpose  to  acquire  a  complete 
mastery    over    Lakamba's    vacillating    mind — where 


AN    OUTCAST   OF   THE   ISLANDS.  51 

there  was  nothing  stable  but  an  all-pervading  discon- 
tent. He  kept  the  discontent  alive,  he  rekindled  the 
expiring  ambition,  he  moderated  the  poor  exile's  not 
unnatural  impatience  to  attain  a  high  and  lucrative 
position.  He — the  man  of  violence — deprecated  the 
use  of  force,  for  he  had  a  clear  comprehension  of  the 
difficult  situation.  From  the  same  cause,  he — the 
hater  of  white  men — would  to  some  extent  admit  the 
eventual  expediency  of  Dutch  protection.  But  noth- 
ing should  be  done  in  a  hurry.  Whatever  his  master 
Lakamba  might  think,  there  was  no  use  in  poisoning 
old  Patalolo,  he  maintained.  It  could  be  done,  of 
course;  but  what  then?  As  long  as  Lingard's  influ-. 
ence  was  paramount — as  long  as  Almayer,  Lingard's 
representative,  was  the  only  great  trader  of  the  settle- 
ment, it  was  not  worth  Lakamba's  while — even  if  it 
had  been  possible — to  grasp  the  rule  of  the  young 
state.  Killing  Almayer  and  Lingard  was  so  difficult 
and  so  risky  that  it  might  be  dismissed  as  impractica- 
ble. What  was  wanted  was  an  alliance;  somebody 
to  set  up  against  the  white  men's  influence — and  some- 
body who,  while  favourable  to  Lakamba,  would  at 
the  same  time  be  a  person  of  a  good  standing  with  the 
Dutch  authorities.  A  rich  and  considered  trader  was 
wanted.  Such  a  person  once  firmly  established  in 
Sambir  would  help  them  to  oust  the  old  Rajah,  to  re- 
move him  from  power  or  from  life  if  there  was  no  other 
way.  Then  it  would  be  time  to  apply  to  the  Orang 
Blanda  for  a  flag;  for  a  recognition  of  their  meritori- 
ous services;  for  that  protection  which  would  make 
them  safe  for  ever!  The  word  of  a  rich  and  loyal 
trader  would  mean  something  with  the  Ruler  down  in 
Batavia.  The  first  thing  to  do  was  to  find  such  an 
ally  and  to  induce  him  to  settle  in  Sambir.  A  white 
trader  would  not  do.  A  white  man  would  not  fall  in 
v;ith  their  ideas — would  not  be  trustworthy.  The  man 
they  wanted  should  be  rich,  unscrupulous,  have  many 


52  AN   OUTCAST   OF    THE    ISLANDS. 

followers,  and  be  a  well-known  personality  In  the  isl- 
ands. Such  a  man  might  be  found  amongst  the  Arab 
traders.  Lingard's  jealousy,  said  Babalatchi,  kept  all 
the  traders  out  of  the  river.  Some  were  afraid,  and 
some  did  not  know  how  to  get  there;  others  ignored 
the  very  existence  of  Sambir;  a  good  many  did  not 
think  it  worth  their  while  to  run  the  risk  of  Lingard's 
enmity  for  the  doubtful  advantage  of  trade  with  a  com- 
paratively unknown  settlement.  The  great  majority 
were  undesirable  or  untrustworthy.  And  Babalatchi 
mentioned  regretfully  the  men  he  had  known  in  his 
young  days:  wealthy,  resolute,  courageous,  reckless, 
ready  for  any  enterprise!  But  why  lament  the  past 
and  speak  about  the  dead?  There  is  one  man — living 
— great — not  far  ofT.  .  .  . 

Such  was  Babalatchi's  line  of  policy  laid  before  his 
ambitious  protector.  Lakamba  assented,  his  only  ob- 
jection being  that  it  was  very  slow  work.  In  his 
extreme  desire  to  grasp  dollars  and  power,  the  unintel- 
lectual  exile  was  ready  to  throw  himself  into  the  arms 
of  any  wandering  cut-throat  whose  help  could  be  se- 
cured, and  Babalatchi  experienced  great  difficulty  in 
restraining  him  from  unconsidered  violence.  It  would 
not  do  to  let  it  be  seen  that  they  had  any  hand  in  in- 
troducing a  new  element  into  the  social  and  political 
life  of  Sambir.  There  was  always  a  possibility  of  fail- 
ure, and  in  that  case  Lingard's  vengeance  would  be 
swift  and  certain.  No  risk  should  be  run.  They  must 
wait. 

Meantime  he  pervaded  the  settlement,  squatting  in 
the  course  of  each  day  by  many  household  fires,  testing 
the  public  temper  and  public  opinion — and  always 
talking  about  his  impending  departure.  At  night  he 
would  often  take  Lakamba's  smallest  canoe  and  depart 
silently  to  pay  mysterious  visits  to  his  old  chief  on  the 
other  side  of  the  river.  Omar  lived  in  odour  of  sanc- 
tity under  the  wing  of  Patalolo.    Between  the  bamboo 


AN   OUTCAST  OF   THE   ISLANDS. 


53 


fence,  enclosing  the  houses  of  the  Rajah,  and  the  wild 
forest,  there  was  a  banana  plantation,  and  on  its  fur- 
ther edge  stood  two  little  houses  built  on  low  piles 
under  a  few  precious  fruit  trees  that  grew  on  the  banks 
of  a  clear  brook,  which,  bubbling  up  behind  the  house, 
ran  in  its  short  and  rapid  course  down  to  the  big  river. 
Along  the  brook  a  narrow  path  led  through  the  dense 
second  growth  of  a  neglected  clearing  to  the  banana 
plantation  and  to  the  houses  in  it  which  the  Rajah  had 
given  for  residence  to  Omar.  The  Rajah  was  greatly 
impressed  by  Omar's  ostentatious  piety,  by  his  oracu- 
lar wisdom,  by  his  many  misfortunes,  by  the  solemn 
fortitude  with  which  he  bore  his  affliction.  Often  the 
old  ruler  of  Sambir  would  visit  informally  the  blind 
Arab  and  listen  gravely  to  his  talk  during  the  hot 
hours  of  an  afternoon.  In  the  night,  Babalatchi  would 
call  and  interrupt  Omar's  repose,  unrebuked.  Aissa, 
standing  silently  at  the  door  of  one  of  the  huts,  could 
see  the  two  old  friends  as  they  sat  very  still  by  the  fire 
in  the  middle  of  the  beaten  ground  between  the  two 
houses,  talking  in  an  indistinct  murmur  far  into  the 
night.  She  could  not  hear  their  words,  but  she  watched 
the  two  formless  shadows  curiously.  Finally  Baba- 
latchi would  rise  and,  taking  her  father  by  the  wrist, 
would  lead  him  back  to  the  house,  arrange  his  mats 
for  him,  and  go  out  quietly.  Instead  of  going  away, 
Babalatchi,  unconscious  of  Aissa's  eyes,  often  sat  again 
by  the  fire,  in  a  long  and  deep  meditation.  Aissa 
looked  with  respect  on  that  wise  and  brave  man — she 
was  accustomed  to  see  at  her  father's  side  as  long  as 
she  could  remember — sitting  alone  and  thoughtful  in 
the  silent  night  by  the  dying  fire,  his  body  motionless 
and  his  mind  wandering  in  the  land  of  memories,  or 
— who  knows? — perhaps  groping  for  a  road  in  the 
waste  spaces  of  the  uncertain  future. 

Babalatchi  noted  the  arrival  of  Willems  with  alarm 
at  this  new  accession  to  the  white  men's  strength. 


54  AN   OUTCAST   OF   THE   ISLANDS. 

Afterwards  he  changed  his  opinion.  He  met  Willems 
one  night  on  the  path  leading  to  Omar's  house,  and 
noticed  later  on,  with  only  a  moderate  surprise,  that 
the  blind  Arab  did  not  seem  to  be  aware  of  the  new 
white  man's  visits  to  the  neighbourhood  of  his  dwell- 
ing. Once,  coming  unexpectedly  in  the  daytime, 
Babalatchi  fancied  he  could  see  the  gleam  of  a  white 
jacket  in  the  bushes  on  the  other  side  of  the  brook. 
That  day  he  watched  Aissa  pensively  as  she  moved 
about  preparing  the  evening  rice;  but  after  awhile  he 
went  hurriedly  away  before  sunset,  refusing  Omar's 
hospitable  invitation,  in  the  name  of  Allah,  to  share 
their  meal.  That  same  evening  he  startled  Lakamba 
by  announcing  that  the  time  had  come  at  last  to  make 
the  first  move  in  their  long-deferred  game.  Lakamba 
asked  excitedly  for  explanation.  Babalatchi  shook 
his  head  and  pointed  to  the  flitting  shadows  of  moving 
women  and  to  the  vague  forms  of  men  sitting  by  the 
evening  fires  in  the  courtyard.  Not  a  word  would  he 
speak  here,  he  declared.  But  when  the  whole  house- 
hold was  reposing,  Babalatchi  and  Lakamba  passed 
silently  amongst  sleeping  groups  to  the  riverside,  and, 
taking  a  canoe,  paddled  of¥  stealthily  on  their  way  to 
the  dilapidated  guard-hut  in  the  old  rice-clearing. 
There  they  were  safe  from  all  eyes  and  ears,  and  could 
account,  if  need  be,  for  their  excursion  by  the  wish 
to  kill  a  deer,  the  spot  being  well  known  as  the  drink- 
ing-place  of  all  kinds  of  game.  In  the  seclusion  of 
its  quiet  solitude  Babalatchi  explained  his  plan  to  the 
attentive  Lakamba.  His  idea  was  to  make  use  of  Wil- 
lems for  the  destruction  of  Lingard's  influence. 

"  I  know  the  white  men,  Tuan,"  he  said,  in  con- 
clusion. ''In  many  lands  have  I  seen  them;  always 
the  slaves  of  their  desires,  always  ready  to  give  up 
their  strength  and  their  reason  into  the  hands  of  some 
woman.  The  fate  of  the  Believers  is  written  by  tlie 
hand  of  the  Mighty  One,  but  they  who  worship  many 


AN   OUTCAST   OF   THE   ISLANDS. 


55 


gods  are  thrown  into  the  world  with  smooth  fore- 
heads, for  any  woman's  hand  to  mark  their  destruc- 
tion there.  Let  one  white  man  destroy  another.  The 
will  of  the  Most  High  is  that  they  should  be  fools. 
They  know  how  to  keep  faith  with  their  enemies,  but 
towards  each  other  they  know  only  deception.  Hai! 
I  have  seen!     I  have  seen!" 

He  stretched  himself  full  length  before  the  fire, 
and  closed  his  eye  in  real  or  simulated  sleep.  Lakam- 
ba,  not  quite  convinced,  sat  for  a  long  time  with  his 
gaze  riveted  on  the  dull  embers.  As  the  night  ad- 
vanced, a  slight  white  mist  rose'from  the  river,  and  the 
decliniri"^  moori,  bowed  over  the  tops  of  the  forest, 
seemed  to  seek  the  repose  of  the  earth,  like  a  wayward 
and  wandering  lover  who  returns  at  last  to  lay  his  tired 
and  silent  head  on  his  beloved's  breast. 


VI. 

"  Lend  me  your  gun,  Almayer,"  said  Willems, 
across  the  table  on  which  a  smoky  lamp  shone  redly 
above  the  disorder  of  a  finished  meal.  ''  I  have  a  mind 
to  go  and  look  for  a  deer  when  the  moon  rises  to- 
night." 

Almayer,  sitting  sidewise  to  the  table,  his  elbow 
pushed  amongst  the  dirty  plates,  his  chin  on  his  breast 
and  his  legs  stretched  stiffly  out,  kept  his  eyes  steadily 
on  the  toes  of  his  grass  slippers  and  laughed  abruptly. 

"  You  might  say  yes  or  no  instead  of  making  that 
unpleasant  noise,"  remarked  Willems,  with  calm  irri- 
tation. 

''  If  I  believed  one  word  of  what  you  say,  I  would," 
answered  Almayer  without  changing  his  attitude  and 
speaking  slowly,  with  pauses,  as  if  dropping  his  words 


56  AN   OUTCAST   OF  THE   ISLANDS. 

on  the  floor.  "As  it  is — what's  the  use?  You  know 
where  the  gun  is;  you  may  take  it  or  leave  it.  Gun. 
Deer.  Bosh!  Hunt  deer!  Pah!  It's  a  .  .  .  gazelle 
you  are  after,  my  honoured  guest.  You  want  gold 
inklets  and  silk  sarongs  for  that  game — my  mighty 
hunter.  And  you  won't  get  those  for  the  asking,  I 
promise  you.  All  day  amongst  the  natives.  A  fine 
help  you  are  to  me." 

*'  You  shouldn't  drink  so  much,  Almayer,"  said 
Willems,  disguising  his  fury  under  an  affected  drawl. 
"  You  have  no  head.  Never  had,  as  far  as  I  can  re- 
member, in  the  old  days  in  Macassar.  You  drink  too 
much." 

*'  I  drink  my  own,"  retorted  Almayer,  lifting  his 
head  quickly  and  darting  an  angry  glance  at  Willems. 

Those  two  sj)ecimens  of  the  superior  race  glared  at 
each  other  savagely  for  a  minute,  then  turned  away 
their  heads  at  the  same  moment  as  if  by  previous  ar- 
rangement, and  both  got  up.  Almayer  kicked  off  his 
slippers  and  scrambled  into  his  hammock,  which  hung 
between  two  wooden  columns  of  the  verandah  so  as 
to  catch  every  rare  breeze  of  the  dry  season,  and  Wil- 
lems, after  standing  irresolutely  by  the  table  for  a 
short  time,  walked  without  a  word  down  the  steps 
of  the  house  and  over  the  courtyard  towards  the  little 
wooden  jetty,  where  several  small  canoes  and  a  couple 
of  big  white  whale-boats  were  made  fast,  tugging  at 
their  short  painters  and  bumping  together  in  the  swift 
current  of  the  river.  He  jumped  into  the  smallest 
canoe,  balancing  himself  clumsily,  slipped  the  rattan 
painter,  and  gave  an  unnecessary  and  violent  shove, 
which  nearly  sent  him  headlong  overboard.  By  the 
time  he  regained  his  balance  the  canoe  had  drifted 
some  fifty  yards  down  the  river.  He  knelt  in  the  bot- 
tom of  his  little  craft  and  fought  the  current  with  long 
sweeps  of  the  paddle.  Almayer  sat  up  in  his  hammock, 
grasping  his  feet  and  peering  over  the  river  with  parted 


AN   OUTCAST   OF   THE   ISLANDS. 


57 


lips  till  he  made  out  the  shadowy  form  of  man  and 
canoe  as  they  struggled  past  the  jetty  again. 

"  I  thought  you  would  go,",  he  shouted.  "  Won't 
you  take  the  gun?  Hey?"  ihe  yelled,  straining  his 
voice.  Then  he  fell  back  in  his  hammock  and  laughed 
to  himself  feebly  till  he  fell  asleep.  On  the  river,  Wil- 
lems,  his  eyes  fixed  intently  ahead,  swept  his  paddle 
right  and  left,  unheeding  the  words  that  reached  him 
faintly. 

It  was  now  three  months  since  Lingard  had  landed 
Willems  in  Sambir  and  had  departed  hurriedly,  leav- 
ing him  in  Almayer's  care.  The  two  white  men  did 
not  get  on  well  together.  Almayer,  remembering  the 
time  when  they  both  served  Hudig,  and  when  the  su- 
perior Willems  treated  him  with  ofifensive  condescen- 
sion, felt  a  great  dislike  towards  his  guest.  He  was 
also  jealous  of  Lingard's  favour.  Almayer  had  mar- 
ried a  Malay  girl  whom  the  old  seaman  had  adopted 
in  one  of  his  accesses  of  unreasoning  benevolence,  and 
as  the  marriage  was  not  a  happy  one  from  a  domestic 
point  of  view,  he  looked  to  Lingard's  fortune  for  com- 
pensation in  his  matrimonial  unhappiness.  The  ap- 
pearance of  that  man,  who  seemed  to  have  a  claim  of 
some  sort  upon  Lingard,  filled  him  with  considerable 
uneasiness,  the  more  so  because  the  old  seaman  did 
not  choose  to  acquaint  the  husband  of  his  adopted 
daughter  with  Willems'  history,  or  to  confide  to  him 
his  intentions  as  to  that  individual's  future  fate.  Sus- 
picious from  the  first,  Almayer  discouraged  Willems' 
attempts  to  help  him  in  his  trading,  and  then  when 
Willems  drew  back,  he  made,  with  characteristic  per- 
verseness,  a  grievance  of  his  unconcern.  From  cold 
civility  in  their  relations,  the  two  men  drifted  into  si- 
lent hostility,  then  into  outspoken  enmity,  and  both 
wished  ardently  for  Lingard's  return  and  the  end  of 
a  situation  that  grew  more  intolerable  from  day  to  day. 
The  time  dragged  slowly.    Willems  watched  the  sue- 


58  AN   OUTCAST   OF   THE   ISLANDS. 

ceeding  sunrises  wondering  dismally  whether  before 
the  evening  some  change  would  occur  in  the  deadly 
dulness  of  his  life.  He  missed  the  commercial  activity 
of  that  existence  which  seemed  to  him  far  ofi,  irrep- 
arably lost,  buried  out  of  sight  under  the  ruins  of 
his  past  success — now  gone  from  him  beyond  the  pos- 
sibility of  redemption.  He  mooned  disconsolately 
about  Almayer's  courtyard,  watching  from  afar,  with 
uninterested  eyes,  the  upcountry  canoes  discharging 
guttah  or  rattans,  and  loading  rice  or  European  goods 
on  the  little  wharf  of  Lingard  &  Co.  Big  as  was  the 
extent  of  ground  owned  by  Almayer,  Willems  yet  felt 
that  there  was  not  enough  room  for  him  inside  those 
neat  fences.  The  man  who,  during  long  years,  be- 
came accustomed  to  think  of  himself  as  indispensable 
to  others,  felt  a  bitter  and  savage  rage  at  the  cruel  con- 
sciousness of  his  superfluity,  of  his  uselessness;  at  the 
cold  hostility  visible  in  every  look  of  the  only  white 
man  in  this  barbarous  corner  of  the  world.  He  gnashed 
his  teeth  when  he  thought  of  the  wasted  days,  of  the 
life  thrown  away  in  the  unwilling  company  of  that 
peevish  and  suspicious  fool.  He  heard  the  reproach 
of  his  idleness  in  the  murmurs  of  the  river,  in  the  un- 
ceasing whisper  of  the  great  forests.  Round  him 
everything  stirred,  moved,  swept  by  in  a  rush;  the 
earth  under  his  feet  and  the  heavens  above  his  head. 
The  very  savages  around  him  strove,  struggled,  fought, 
worked — if  only  to  prolong  a  miserable  existence ;  but 
they  lived,  they  lived!  And  it  was  only  himself  that 
seemed  to  be  left  outside  the  scheme  of  creation  in  a 
hopeless  immobility  filled  with  tormenting  anger  and 
with  ever-stinging  regret. 

He  took  to  wandering  about  the  settlement.  The 
afterwards  flourishing  Sambir  was  born  in  a  swamp 
and  passed  its  youth  in  malodorous  mud.  The  houses 
crowded  the  bank,  and,  as  if  to  get  away  from  the 
unhealthy  shore,  stepped  boldly  irrto  the  river,  shoot- 


AN  OUTCAST  OF   THE   ISLANDS. 


S9 


ing  over  it  in  a  close  row  of  bamboo  platforms  elevated 
on  high  piles,  amongst  which  the  current  below  spoke 
in  a  soft  and  unceasing  plaint  of  murmuring  eddies. 
Thei_  was  only  one  path  in  the  whole  town  and  it 
ran  al  the  back  of  the  houses  along  the  succession  of 
blackened  circular  patches  that  marked  the  place  of 
the  household  fires.  On  the  other  side  the  virgin 
forest  bordered  the  path,  coming  close  to  it,  as  if  to 
provoke  impudently  any  passer-by  to  the  solution  of 
the  gloomy  problem  of  its  depths.  Nobody  would 
accept  the  deceptive  challenge.  There  were  only  a 
few  feeble  attempts  at  a  clearing  here  and  there,  but 
the  ground  was  low  and  the  river,  retiring  after  its 
yearly  floods,  left  on  each  a  gradually  diminishing 
mud-hole,  where  the  imported  buffaloes  of  the  Bugis 
settlers  wallowed  happily  during  the  heat  of  the  day. 
When  Willems  walked  on  the  path,  the  indolent  men 
stretched  on  the  shady  side  of  the  houses  looked  at 
him  with  calm  curiosity,  the  women  busy  round  the 
cooking  fires  would  send  after  him  wondering  and 
timid  glances,  while  the  children  would  only  look  once, 
and  then  run  away  yelling  with  fright  at  the  horrible 
appearance  of  the  man  wnth  a  red  and  white  face. 
These  manifestations  of  childish  diso-ust  and  fear  stung 
Willems  with  a  sense  of  absurd  humiliation;  he  sought 
in  his  walks  the  comparative  solitude  of  the  rudi- 
mentary clearings,  but  the  ve*-v  buffaloes  snorted  with 
alarm  at  his  sight,  scrambled  lumberingly  out  of  the 
cool  mud  and  stared  wildly  in  a  compact  herd  at  him 
as  he  tried  to  slink  unperceived  along  the  edge  of  the 
forest.  One  day,  at  some  un2:uarded  and  sudden 
movement  of  his,  the  whole  herd  stampeded  down  the 
path,  scattered  the  fires,  sent  the  women  flying  with 
shrill  cries,  and  left  behind  a  track  of  smashed  pots, 
trampled  rice,  overturned  children,  and  a  crowd  of 
anqry  men  brandishing  sticks  in  loud-voiced  pursuit. 
The  mnocent  cause  of  that  disturbance  ran  shama- 


6o  AN   OUTCAST   OF   THE   ISLANDS. 

facedly  the  gauntlet  of  black  looks  and  unfriendly  re- 
marks, and  hastily  sought  refuge  in  Almayer's  cam- 
pong.     After  that  he  left  the  settlement  alone. 

Later  on,  when  the  enforced  confinement  grew 
irksome,  Willems  took  one  of  Almayer's  many  canoes 
and  crossed  the  main  branch  of  the  Pantai  in  search 
of  some  solitary  spot  where  he  could  hide  his  dis- 
couragement and  his  weariness.  He  skirted  in  his 
little  craft  the  wall  of  tangled  verdure,  keeping  in  the 
dead  water  close  to  the  bank  where  the  spreading  nipa 
palms  nodded  their  broad  leaves  over  his  head  as  if 
in  contemptuous  pity  of  the  wandering  outcast.  Here 
and  there  he  could  see  the  beginnings  of  chopped-out 
pathways,  and,  with  the  fixed  idea  of  getting  out  of 
sight  of  the  busy  river,  he  would  land  and  follow  the 
narrow  and  winding  path,  only  to  find  that  it  led  no- 
where, ending  abruptly  in  the  discouragement  of 
thorny  thickets.  He  would  go  back  slowly,  with  a 
bitter  sense  of  unreasonable  disappointment  and  sad- 
ness; oppressed  by  the  hot  smell  of  earth,  dampness, 
and  decay  in  that  forest  which  seemed  to  push  him 
mercilessly  back  into  the  glittering  sunshine  of  the 
river.  And  he  would  recommence  paddling  with  tired 
arms  to  seek  another  opening,  to  find  another  decep- 
tion. 

As  he  paddled  up  to  the  point  where  the  Rajah's 
stockade  came  down  to  the  river,  the  nipas  were  left 
behind  rattling  their  leaves  over  the  brown  water,  and 
the  big  trees  would  appear  on  the  bank,  tall,  strong, 
indifferent  in  the  immense  solidity  of  their  life,  which 
endures  for  ages,  to  that  short  and  fleeting  life  in  the 
heart  of  the  man  who  crept  painfully  amongst  their 
shadows  in  search  of  a  refuge  from  the  unceasing  re- 
proach of  his  thoughts.  Amongst  their  smooth  trunks 
a  clear  brook  meandered  for  a  time  in  twining  lacets 
before  it  made  up  its  mind  to  take  a  leap  into  the  hur- 
rying river,  over  the  edge  of  the  steep  bank.    There 


AN   OUTCAST   OF   THE   ISLANDS.  6l 

was  also  a  pathway  there  and  it  seemed  frequented. 
Willems  landed,  and  following  the  capricious  promise 
of  the  track  soon  found  himself  in  a  comparatively 
clear  space,  where  the  confused  tracery  of  sunlight 
fell  through  the  branches  and  the  foliage  overhead, 
and  lay  on  the  stream  that  shone  in  an  easy  curve 
like  a  bright  swordblade  dropped  amongst  the  long 
and  feathery  grass.  Further  on,  the  path  continued 
narrowed  again  in  the  thick  undergrowth.  At  the  end 
of  the  first  turning  Willems  saw  a  flash  of  white  and 
colour,  a  gleam  of  gold  like  a  sun-ray  lost  in  shadow, 
and  a  vision  of  blackness  darker  than  the  deepest 
shade  of  the  forest.  He  stopped,  surprised,  and  fancied 
he  had  heard  light  footsteps — growing  lighter — ceas- 
ing. He  looked  around.  The  grass  on  the  bank  of 
the  stream  trembled  and  a  tremulous  path  of  its  shiv- 
ering, silver-grey  tops  ran  from  the  water  to  the  be- 
ginning of  the  thicket.  And  yet  there  was  not  a  breath 
of  wind.  Somebody  had  passed  there.  He  looked 
pensive  while  the  tremor  died  out  in  a  quick  tremble 
under  his  eyes;  and  the  grass  stood  high,  unstirring, 
with  dropping  heads  in  the  warm  and  motionless  air. 
He  hurried  on,  driven  by  a  suddenly  awakened 
curiosity,  and  entered  the  narrow  way  between  the 
bushes.  At  the  next  turn  of  the  path  he  caught  again 
the  glimpse  of  coloured  stufT  and  of  a  woman's  black 
hair  before  him.  He  hastened  his  pace  and  came  in 
full  view  of  the  object  of  his  pursuit.  The  woman, 
who  was  carrying  two  bamboo  vessels  full  of  water, 
heard  his  footsteps,  stopped,  and  putting  the  bamboos 
down  half  turned  to  look  back.  Willems  also  stood 
still  for  a  minute,  then  walked  steadily  on  with  a  firm 
tread,  while  the  woman  moved  aside  to  let  him  pass. 
He  kept  his  eyes  fixed  straight  before  him,  yet  almost 
unconsciously  he  took  in  every  detail  of  the  tall  and 
graceful  figure.  As  he  approached  her  the  woman 
tossed  her  head  slightly  back,  and  with  a  free  gesture 


62  AN   OUTCAST  OF   THE   ISLANDS. 

of  her  strong,  round  arm,  caught  up  the  mass  of  loose 
black  hair  and  brought  it  over  her  shoulder  and  across 
the  lower  part  of  her  face.  The  next  moment  he  was 
passing  her  close,  walking  rigidly,  like  a  man  in  a 
trance.  He  heard  her  rapid  breathing  and  he  felt  the 
touch  of  a  look  darted  at  him  from  half-open  eyes.  It 
touched  his  brain  and  his  heart  together.  It  seemed 
to  him  to  be  something  loud  and  stirring  like  a  shout, 
silent  and  penetrating  like  an  inspiration.  The  mo- 
mentum of  his  motion  carried  him  past  her,  but  an  in- 
visible force  made  up  of  surprise  and  curiosity  and 
desire  spun  him  round  as  soon  as  he  had  passed. 

She  had  taken  up  her  burden  already,  with  the  in- 
tention of  pursuing  her  path.  His  sudden  movement 
arrested  her  at  the  first  step,  and  again  she  stood 
straight,  slim,  expectant,  with  a  readiness  to  dart  away 
suggested  in  the  light  immobility  of  her  pose.  High 
above,  the  branches  of  the  trees  met  in  a  transparent 
shimmer  of  waving  green  mist,  through  which  the 
rain  of  yellow  rays  descended  upon  her  head,  streamed 
in  glints  down  her  black  tresses,  shone  with  the  chang- 
ing glow  of  liquid  metal  on  her  face,  and  lost  itself 
in  vanishing  sparks  in  the  sombre  depths  of  her  eyes 
that,  wide  open  now,  with  enlarged  pupils,  looked 
steadily  at  the  man  in  her  path.  And  Willems  stared 
at  her,  charmed  with  a  charm  that  carries  with  it  a 
sense  of  irreparable  loss,  tingling  with  that  feeling 
which  begins  like  a  caress  and  ends  in  a  blow,  in  that 
sudden  hurt  of  a  new  emotion  making  its  way  into  a 
human  heart,  with  the  brusque  stirring  of  sleeping 
sensations  awakening  suddenly  to  the  rush  of  new 
hopes,  new  fears,  new  desires — and  to  the  flight  of 
one's  old  self. 

She  moved  a  step  forward  and  again  halted.  A 
breath  of  wind  that  came  through  the  trees,  but  in 
Willems'  fancy  seemed  to  be  driven  by  her  moving 
figure,  rippled  in  a  hot  wave  round  his  body  and 


r>y%/ 


.  J 


AN  OUTCAST  OF   THE   ISLANDS. 


63 


scorched  his  face  in  a  burning  touch.  He  drew  it  in 
with  a  long  breath,  the  breath  that  gives  courage 
to  confront  the  menace  of  death  or  the  storm  of  pas- 
sion. 

Who  was  she?  Where  did  she  come  from?  Won- 
deringly  he  took  his  eyes  ofif  her  face  to  look  round 
at  the  serried  trees  of  the  forest  that  stood  big  and 
still  and  straight,  as  if  watching  him  and  her  breath- 
lessly. He  had  been  baffled,  repelled,  almost  fright- 
ened by  the  intensity  of  that  tropical  life  which  wants 
the  sunshine  but  works  in  gloom;  which  seems  to  be 
all  grace  of  colour  and  form,  all  brilliance,  all  smiles, 
but  is  only  the  blossoming  of  the  dead;  whose  mystery 
holds  the  promise  of  joy  and  beauty,  yet  contains  noth- 
ing but  poison  and  decay.  He  had  been  frightened 
by  the  vague  perception  of  danger  before,  but  now, 
as  he  looked  at  that  life  again,  his  eyes  seemed  able 
to  pierce  the  fantastic  veil  of  creepers  and  leaves,  to 
look  past  the  solid  trunks,  to  see  through  the  forbid- 
ding gloom — and  the  mystery  was  disclosed — enchant- 
ing, subduing,  beautiful.  He  looked  at  the  woman. 
Through  the  checkered  light  between  them  she  ap- 
peared to  him  with  the  impalpable  distinctness  of  a 
dream.  She  seemed  to  him  at  once  enticing  and  bril- 
Hant — sombre  and  repelHng:  the  very  spirit  of  that 
land  of  mysterious  forests,  standing  before  him,  with 
the  vague  beauty  of  wavering  outline;  like  an  appari- 
tion behind  a  transparent  veil — a  veil  woven  of  sun- 
beams and  shadows. 

She  had  approached  him  still  nearer.  He  felt  a 
strange  impatience  within  him  at  her  advance.  Con- 
fused thoughts  rushed  through  his  head,  disordered, 
shapeless,  stunning.  Then  he  heard  his  own  voice 
asking — 

"  Who  are  you?  " 

"  I  am  the  daughter  of  the  blind  Omar,"  she  an- 
swered, in  a  low  but  steady  tone.     "  And  you,"  she 


64  AN   OUTCAST   OF   THE   ISLANDS. 

went  on,  a  little  louder,  "  you  are  the  white  trader — 
the  great  man  of  this  place." 

**  Yes,"  said  Willems,  holding  her  eyes  wdth  his  in 
a  sense  of  extreme  effort,  "  Yes,  I  am  white."  Then 
he  added,  feeling  as  if  he  spoke  about  some  other  man, 
"  But  I  am  the  outcast  of  my  people." 

She  listened  to  him  gravely.  Through  the  mesh 
of  scattered  hair  her  face  looked  like  the  face  of  a 
golden  statue  with  living  eyes.  The  heavy  eyelids 
dropped  slightly,  and  from  between  the  long  eyelashes 
she  sent  out  a  sidelong  look:  hard,  keen,  and  narrow, 
like  the  gleam  of  sharp  steel.  Her  lips  were  firm  and 
composed  in  a  graceful  curve,  but  the  distended  nos- 
trils, the  upward  poise  of  the  half-averted  head,  gave  to 
her  whole  person  the  expression  of  a  wild  and  resent- 
ful defiance. 

A  shadow  passed  over  Willems'  face.  He  put  his 
hand  over  his  lips  as  if  to  keep  back  the  words  that 
wanted  to  come  out  in  a  surge  of  impulsive  necessity, 
the  outcome  of  dominant  thought  that  rushes  from 
the  heart  to  the  brain  and  must  be  spoken  in  the  face 
of  doubt,  of  danger,  of  fear,  of  destruction  itself. 

''  You  are  beautiful,"  he  whispered. 

She  looked  at  him  again  with  a  glance  that  running 
in  one  quick  flash  of  her  eyes  over  his  sunburnt  fea- 
tures, his  broad  shoulders,  his  straight,  tall,  motion- 
less figure,  rested  at  last  on  the  ground  at  his  feet. 
Then  she  smiled.  In  the  sombre  beauty  of  her  face 
that  smile  was  like  a  gleam  of  dawn  on  a  stormy  morn- 
ing; like  the  first  ray  of  eastern  light  that  darts  evanes- 
cent and  pale  through  the  gloomy  clouds:  the  fore- 
runner of  sunrise  and  of  thunder. 


AN   OUTCAST   OF   THE   ISLANDS. 


VII. 


65 


There_aTejn_aur_]iy£s_sliQ^  no 

place  in  memory  biij.t_onjy_as^jtIie  reoolkLCtion  of  a  feel- 
ing! There  is  no  remembrance  of  gesture,  of  action, 
oT^any  outward  manifestation  of  life;  those  are  lost 
in  the  unearthly  brilliance  or  in  the  unearthly  gloom 
of  such  moments.  We  are  absorbed  in  the  contempla- 
tion of  that  something,  within  our  bodies,  which  re- 
joices or  suffers  while  the  body  goes  on  breathing, 
instinctively  runs  away  or,  not  less  instinctively,  fights 
— perhaps  dies.  But  death  in  such  a  moment  is  the 
privilege  of  the  fortunate,  it  is  a  high  and  rare  favour, 
a  supreme  grace. 

Willems  never  remembered  how  and  when  he 
parted  from  Aissa.  He  caught  himself  drinking  the 
muddy  water  out  of  the  hollow  of  his  hand,  while  his 
canoe  was  drifting  in  mid-stream  past  the  last  houses 
of  Sambir.  With  his  returning  wits  came  the  fear 
of  something  unknown  that  had  taken  possession  of  his 
heart,  of  something  inarticulate  and  masterful  which 
could  not  speak  and  would  be  obeyed.  His  first  im- 
pulse was  that  of  revolt.  He  would  never  go  back 
there.  Never!  He  looked  round  slowly  at  the  bril- 
liance of  things  in  the  deadly  sunshine  and  took  up 
his  paddle!  How  changed  everything  seemed!  The 
river  was  broader,  the  sky  was  higher.  How  fast 
the  canoe  flew  under  the  strokes  of  his  paddle!  Since 
when  had  he  acquired  the  strength  of  two  men  or 
more?  He  looked  up  and  down  the  reach  at  the  for- 
ests of  the  bank  with  a  confused  notion  that  with  one 
sweep  of  his  hand  he  could  tumble  all  these  trees  into 
the  stream.  His  face  felt  burning.  He  drank  again, 
and  shuddered  with  a  depraved  sense  of  pleasure  at 
the  after-tfme  of -slime  in  the  water. 

It  was  late  when  he  reached  Almayer's  house,  but 


e6  AN  OUTCAST  OF  THE  ISLANDS. 

he  crossed  the  dark  and  uneven  courtyard  without 
stumbling,  unhesitatingly,  walking  lightly  in  the  radi- 
ance of  some  light  of  his  own  that  was  invisible  to 
other  eyes.  His  host's  sulky  greeting  jarred  him  like 
a  sudden  fall  down  a  great  height.  He  took  his  place 
at  the  table  opposite  Almayer  and  tried  to  speak 
cheerfully  to  his  gloomy  companion,  but  when  the 
meal  was  ended  and  they  sat  smoking  in  silence  he 
felt  an  abrupt  discouragement,  a  lassitude  in  all  his 
limbs,  a  sense  of  immense  sadness  as  after  some  great 
and  irreparable  loss.  The  light  died  out  and  the  dark- 
ness of  the  night  entered  his  heart,  bringing  with  it 
doubt  and  hesitation  and  dull  anger  with  himself  and 
all  the  world.  He  had  an  impulse  to  shout  horrible 
curses,  to  quarrel  with  Almayer,  to  do  something  vio- 
lent. Quite  without  any  immediate  provocation  he 
thought  he  would  like  to  assault  the  wretched,  sulky 
beast.  He  glanced  at  him  ferociously  from  under  his 
eyebrows.  The  unconscious  Almayer  smoked  thought- 
fully, planning  to-morrow's  work  probably.  The 
man's  composure  seemed  to  Willems  an  unpardon- 
able insult.  Why  didn't  that  idiot  talk  to-night  when 
he  wanted  him  to?  ...  on  other  nights  he  was  ready 
enough  to  chatter.  And  such  dull  nonsense  too!  And 
Willems,  trying  hard  to  repress  his  own  senseless  rage, 
looked  fixedly  through  the  thick  tobacco-smoke  at 
the  stained  tablecloth. 

They  retired  early,  as  usual,  but  in  the  middle  of 
the  night  Willems  leaped  out  of  his  hammock  with 
a  stifled  execration  and  ran  down  the  steps  into  the 
courtyard.  The  two  night  watchmen,  who  sat  by  a 
little  fire  talking  together  in  a  monotonous  undertone, 
lifted  their  heads  to  look  wonderingly  at  the  discom- 
posed features  of  the  white  man  as  he  crossed  the  circle 
of  light  thrown  out  by  their  fire.  He  disappeared  in 
the  darkness  and  then  came  back  again,  passing  them 
close,  but  with  no  sign  of  consciousness  of  their  pres- 


AN  OUTCAST   OF   THE   ISLANDS.  dj 

ence  on  his  face.  Backwards  and  forwards  he  paced, 
muttering  to  himself,  and  the  two  Malays,  after  a  short 
consultation  in  whispers  left  the  fire  quietly,  not  think- 
ing  it  safe  to  remain  in  the  vicinity  of  a  white  man  who 
behaved  in  such  a  strange  manner.  They  retired  round 
the  corner  of  the  godown  and  watched  Willems  curi- 
ously through  the  night,  till  the  short  daybreak  was 
followed  by  the  sudden  blaze  of  the  rising  sun,  and 
Almayer's  establishment  woke  up  to  life  and  work. 

As  soon  as  he  could  get  away  unnoticed  in  the 
bustle  of  the  busy  riverside,  Willems  crossed  the  river 
on  his  way  to  the  place  where  he  had  met  A'issa.  He 
threw  himself  down  in  the  grass  by  the  side  of  the 
brook  and  listened  for  the  sound  of  her  footsteps.  The 
brilliant  light  of  day  fell  through  the  irregular  opening 
in  the  high  branches  of  the  trees  and  streamed  down, 
softened,  amongst  the  shadows  of  big  trunks.  Here 
and  there  a  narrow  sunbeam  touched  the  rugged  bark 
of  a  tree  with  a  golden  splash,  sparkled  on  the  leaping 
water  of  the  brook,  or  rested  on  a  leaf  that  stood  out, 
shimmering  and  distinct,  on  the  monotonous  back- 
ground of  sombre  green  tints.  The  clear  gap  of  blue 
above  his  head  was  crossed  by  the  quick  flight  of  white 
rice-birds  whose  wings  flashed  in  the  sunlight,  while 
through  it  the  heat  poured  down  from  the  sky,  clung 
about  the  steaming  earth,  rolled  among  the  trees,  and 
wrapped  up  Willems  in  the  soft  and  odorous  folds  of 
air  heavy  with  the  faint  scent  of  blossoms  and  with 
the  acrid  smell  of  decaying  life.  And  in  that  atmos- 
phere of  Nature's  workshop  Willems  felt  soothed  and 
lulled  into  forgetfulness  of  his  past,  into  indifference 
as  to  his  future.  The  recollections  of  his  triumphs, 
of  his  wrongs  and  of  his  ambition  vanished  in  that 
warmth,  which  seemed  to  melt  all  regrets,  all  hope, 
all  anger,  all  strength  out  of  his  heart.  And  he  lay 
there,  dreamily  contented,  in  the  tepid  and  perfumed 
shelter,  thinking  of  A'issa's  eyes;  recalling  the  sound 


68  AN   OUTCAST   OF   THE   ISLANDS. 

of  her  voice,  the  quiver  of  her  lips — her  frowns  and 
her  smile. 

She  came,  of  course.  To  her  he  was  something 
new,  unknown  and  strange.  He  was  bigger,  stronger 
than  any  man  she  had  seen  before,  and  altogether 
different  from  all  those  she  knew.  He  was  of  the  vic- 
torious race.  With  a  vivid  remembrance  of  the  great 
catastrophe  of  her  life  he  appeared  to  her  with  all  the 
fascination  of  a  great  and  dangerous  thing;  of  a  terror 
vanquished,  surmounted,  made  a  plaything  of.  They 
spoke  with  just  such  a  deep  voice — those  victorious 
men;  they  looked  with  just  such  hard  blue  eyes  at 
their  enemies.  And  she  made  that  voice  speak  softly 
to  her,  those  eyes  look  tenderly  at  her  face!  He  was 
indeed  a  man.  She  could  not  understand  all  he  told 
her  of  his  life,  but  the  fragments  she  understood  she 
made  up  for  herself  into  a  story  of  a  man  great  amongst 
his  own  people,  valorous  and  unfortunate;  an  un- 
daunted fugitive  dreaming  of  vengeance  against  his 
enemies.  He  had  all  the  attractiveness  of  the  vague 
and  the  unknown — of  the  unforeseen  and  of  the  sud- 
den; of  a  being  strong,  dangerous,  alive,  and  human, 
ready  to  be  enslaved. 

She  felt  that  he  was  ready.  She  felt  it  with  the 
unerring  intuition  of  a  primitive  woman  confronted 
by  a  simple  impulse.  Day  after  day,  when  they  met 
and  she  stood  a  little  way  off,  listening  to  his  words, 
holding  him  with  her  look,  the  undefined  terror  of  the 
new  conquest  became  faint  and  blurred  like  the  mem- 
ory of  a  dream,  and  the  certitude  grew  distinct,  and 
convincing,  and  visible  to  the  eyes  like  some  material 
thing  in  full  sunlight.  It  was  a  deep  joy,  a  great  pride, 
a  tangible  sweetness  that  seemed  to  leave  the  taste  of 
honey  on  her  lips.  He  lay  stretched  at  her  feet  with- 
out moving,  for  he  knew  from  experience  how  a  slight 
movement  of  his  could  frighten  her  away  in  those  first 
days  of  their  intercourse.    He  lay  very  quiet,  with  all 


AN   OUTCAST  OF   THE   ISLANDS.  69 

the  ardour  of  his  desire  ringing  in  his  voice  and  shin- 
ing in  his  eyes,  whilst  his  body  was  still,  like  death 
itself.  And  he  looked  at  her,  standing  above  him,  her 
head  lost  in  the  shadow  of  broad  and  graceful  leaves 
that  touched  her  cheek;  while  the  slender  spikes  of 
pale  green  orchids  streamed  down  from  amongst  the 
boughs  and  mingled  with  the  black  hair  that  framed 
her  face,  as  if  all  those  plants  claimed  her  for  their 
own — the  animated  and  brilliant  flower  of  all  that  ex- 
uberant life  which,  born  in  gloom,  struggles  for  ever 
towards  the  sunshine. 

Every  day  she  came  a  little  nearer.  He  watched 
her  slow  progress — the  gradual  taming  of  that  woman 
by  the  words  of  his  love.  It  was  the  monotonous  song 
of  praise  and  desire  that,  commencing  at  creation, 
wraps  up  the  world  like  an  atmosphere  and  shall  end 
only  in  the  end  of  all  things — when  there  are  no  lips 
to  sing  and  no  ears  to  hear.  He  told  her  that  she  was 
beautiful  and  desirable,  and  he  repeated  it  again  and 
again ;  for  when  he  told  her  that,  he  had  said  all  there 
was  within  him — he  had  expressed  his  only  thought, 
his  only  feeling.  And  he  watched  the  startled  look  of 
wonder  and  mistrust  vanish  from  her  face  with  the 
passing  days,  her  eyes  soften,  the  smile  dwell  longer 
and  longer  on  her  lips;  a  smile  as  of  one  charmed  by 
a  delightful  dream,  with  the  slight  exaltation  of  intoxi- 
cating triumph  lurking  in  its  dawning  tenderness. 

And  while  she  was  near  there  was  nothing  in  the 
whole  world — for  that  idle  man — but  her  look  and  her 
smile.  Nothing  in  the  past,  nothing  in  the  future; 
and  in  the  present  only  the  luminous  fact  of  her  exist- 
ence. But  in  the  sudden  darkness  of  her  going  he 
would  be  left  weak  and  helpless,  as  though  despoiled 
violently  of  all  that  was  himself.  He  who  had  lived 
all  his  life  with  no  preoccupation  but  that  of  his  own 
career,  contemptuously  indifferent  to  all  feminine  in- 
fluence, full  of  scorn  for  men  that  would  submit  to  it, 


70  AN  OUTCAST   OF   THE   ISLANDS. 

if  ever  so  little;  he,  so  strong,  so  superior  even  in  his 
errors,  realised  at  last  that  his  very  individuality  was 
snatched  from  within  himself  by  the  hand  of  a  woman. 
Where  was  the  assurance  and  pride  of  his  cleverness; 
the  belief  in  success,  the  anger  of  failure,  the  wish  to 
retrieve  his  fortune,  the  certitude  of  his  ability  to  ac- 
complish it  yet?  Gone.  All  gone.  All  that  had  been 
a  man  within  him  was  gone,  and  there  remained  only 
the  trouble  of  his  heart — that  heart  which  had  become 
a  contemptible  thing;  which  could  be  fluttered  by  a 
look  or  a  smile,  tormented  by  a  word,  soothed  by  a 
promise. 

When  the  longed-for  day  came  at  last,  when  she 
sank  on  the  grass  by  his  side  and  with  a  quick  gesture 
took  his  hand  in  hers,  he  sat  up  suddenly  with  the 
movement  and  look  of  a  man  awakened  by  the  crash 
of  his  own  falling  house.  All  his  blood,  all  his  sensa- 
tion, all  his  life  seemed  to  rush  into  that  hand  leaving 
him  without  strength,  in  a  cold  shiver,  in  the  sudden 
clamminess  and  collapse  as  of  a  deadly  gun-shot 
wound.  He  flung  her  hand  away  brutally,  like  some- 
thing burning,  and  sat  motionless,  his  head  fallen  for- 
ward, staring  on  the  ground  and  catching  his  breath 
in  painful  gasps.  His  impulse  of  fear  and  apparent 
horror  did  not  dismay  her  in  the  least.  Her  face  was 
grave  and  her  eyes  looked  seriously  at  him.  Her  fin- 
gers touched  the  hair  of  his  temple,  ran  in  a  light  caress 
down  his  cheek,  twisted  gently  the  end  of  his  long 
moustache ;  and  while  he  sat  in  the  tremor  of  that  con- 
tact she  ran  off  with  startling  fleetness  and  disappeared 
in  a  peal  of  clear  laughter,  in  the  stir  of  grass,  in  the 
nod  of  young  twigs  growing  over  the  path;  leaving 
behind  only  a  vanishing  trail  of  motion  and  sound. 

He  scrambled  to  his  feet  slowly  and  painfully,  like 
a  man  with  a  burden  on  his  shoulders,  and  walked 
towards  the  riverside.  He  hugged  to  his  breast  the 
recollection  of  his  fear  and  of  his  delight,  but  told 


AN    OUTCAST   OF   THE   ISLANDS.  ^f 

himself  seriously  over  and  over  again  that  this  must 
be  the  end  of  that  adventure.  After  shoving  off  his 
canoe  into  the  stream  he  lifted  his  eyes  to  the  bank 
and  gazed  at  it  long  and  steadily,  as  if  taking  his  last 
look  at  a  place  of  charming  memories.  He  marched 
up  to  Almayer's  house  with  the  concentrated  expres- 
sion and  the  determined  step  of  a  man  who  had  just 
taken  a  momentous  resolution.  His  face  was  set  and 
rigid,  his  gestures  and  movements  were  guarded  and 
slow.  He  was  keeping  a  tight  hand  on  himself.  A 
very  tight  hand.  He  had  a  vivid  illusion — as  vivid  as 
reality  almost — of  being  in  charge  of  a  sHppery  pris- 
oner. He  sat  opposite  Almayer  during  that  dinner 
— which  was  their  last  meal  together — with  a  perfectly 
calm  face  and  within  him  a  growing  terror  of  escape 
from  his  own  self.  Now  and  then  he  would  grasp  the 
edge  of  the  table  and  set  his  teeth  hard  in  a  sudden 
wave  of  acute  despair,  like  one  who,  falling  down  a 
smooth  and  rapid  declivity  that  ends  in  a  precipice, 
digs  his  finger-nails  into  the  yielding  surface  and 
feels  himself  slipping  helplessly  to  inevitable  destruc- 
tion. 

Then,  abruptly,  came  a  relaxation  of  his  muscles, 
the  giving  way  of  his  will.  Something  seemed  to  snap 
in  his  head,  and  that  wish,  that  idea  kept  back  during 
all  those  hours,  darted  into  his  brain  with  the  heat  and 
noise  of  a  conflagration.  He  must  see  her!  See  her 
at  once!  Go  now!  To-night!  He  had  the  raging 
regret  of  the  lost  hour,  of  every  passing  moment. 
There  was  no  thought  of  resistance  now.  Yet  with 
the  instinctive  fear  of  the  irrevocable,  with  the  innate 
falseness  of  the  human  heart,  he  wanted  to  keep  open 
the  way  of  retreat.  He  had  never  absented  himself 
during  the  night.  What  did  Almayer  know?  What 
would  Almayer  think?  Better  ask  him  for  the  gun. 
A  moonhght  night.  .  .  .  Look  for  deer.  ...  A  col- 
ourable pretext.    He  would  lie  to  Almayer.    What  did 


*j2  AN   OUTCAST   OF   THE   ISLANDS. 

it  matter!  He  lied  to  himself  every  minute  of  his  Hfe. 
And  for  what?     For  a  woman.     And  such.  .  .  . 

Almayer's  answer  showed  him  that  deception  was 
useless.  Everything  gets  to  be  known,  even  in  this 
place.  Well,  he  did  not  care.  Cared  for  nothing  but 
for  the  lost  seconds.  What  if  he  should  suddenly  die. 
Die  before  he  saw  her.     Before  he  could  .  .  . 

As,  with  the  sound  of  Almayer's  laughter  in  his 
ears,  he  urged  the  canoe  in  a  slanting  course  across  the 
rapid  current,  he  tried  to  tell  himself  that  he  could 
return  at  any  moment.  He  would  just  go  and  look  at 
the  place  where  they  used  to  meet,  at  the  tree  under 
w^hich  he  lay  when  she  took  his  hand,  at  the  spot  where 
she  sat  by  his  side.  Just  go  there  and  then  return — 
nothing  more;  but  when  his  little  skif¥  touched  the 
bank  he  leaped  out,  forgetting  the  painter,  and  the 
canoe  hung  for  a  moment  amongst  the  bushes  and 
then  swung  out  of  sight  before  he  had  time  to  dash 
into  the  water  and  secure  it.  He  was  thunderstruck 
at  first.  Now  he  could  not  go  back  unless  he  called 
up  the  Rajah's  people  to  get  a  boat  and  rowers — and 
the  way  to  Patalolo's  campong  led  past  Aissa's  house! 

He  went  up  the  path  with  the  eager  eyes  and  re- 
luctant steps  of  a  man  pursuing  a  phantom,  and  when 
he  found  himself  at  a  place  where  a  narrow  track 
branched  ofif  to  the  left  towards  Omar's  clearing  he 
stood  still,  with  a  look  of  strained  attention  on  his  face 
as  if  listening  to  a  far-ofif  voice — the  voice  of  his  fate. 
It  w^as  a  sound  inarticulate  but  full  of  meaning;  and 
following  it  there  came  a  rending  and  tearing  within 
his  breast.  He  twisted  his  fingers  together,  and  the 
joints  of  his  hands  and  arms  cracked.  On  his  forehead 
the  perspiration  stood  out  in  small  pearly  drops.  He 
looked  round  wildly.  Above  the  shapeless  darkness 
of  the  forest  undergrowth  rose  the  tree-tops  with  their 
high  boughs  and  leaves  standing  out  black  on  the  pale 
sky — like  fragments  of  night  floating  on  moonbeams. 


AN   OUTCAST   OF   THE   ISLANDS.  73 

Under  his  feet  warm  steam  rose  from  the  heated  earth. 
Round  him  there  was  a  great  silence. 

He  was  looking  round  for  help.  This  silence,  this 
immobility  of  his  surroundings  seemed  to  him  a  cold 
rebuke,  a  stern  refusal,  a  cruel  unconcern.  There  was 
no  safety  outside  of  himself — and  in  himself  there  was 
no  refuge;  there  was  only  the  image  of  that  woman. 
He  had  a  sudden  moment  of  lucidity^zzoi-that-criiel 
tgggityThat  comes  onceji^n^life  t^  the  most  benighted. 
A  strange  disclosure  gjweakness,  of  want  of  logjc^  of 
the  usual  blindness  of  our  impulses.  He  seemed  to 
see  wHallvenroirwithin  him,  and  was  horrified  at  the 
strange  sight.  He,  a  white  man!  A  man  of  practical 
ambitions,  whose  worst  fault  till  then  had  been  a  little 
want  of  judgment  and  too  much  confidence  in  the 
rectitude  of  his  kind.  That  woman  was  a  pretty  sav- 
age, and  ...  He  tried  to  tell  himself  that  the  thing 
was  of  no  consequence.  No  consequence.  It  was  a 
vain  effort.  Hudig's  partner  was  gone  already,  and 
now  the  feeling  that  the  clever  Willems  was  going  too 
forced  itself  upon  him.  mercilessly.  The  novelty  of  the 
sensations  he  had  never  experienced  before  in  the 
slightest  degree,  yet  had  despised  on  hearsay  from  his 
safe  position  of  a  civilised  man,  destroyed  his  courage. 
He  was  disappointed  with  himself.  He  seemed  to  be 
surrendering  to  a  wild  creature  the  unstained  purity 
of  his  life,  of  his  race,  of  his  civilisation.  He  did  not 
tell  himself  all  this,  but  he  had  a  notion  of  being  lost 
amongst  shapeless  things  that  were  dangerous  and 
ghastly.  He  struggled  with  the  sense  of  certain  de- 
feat— lost  his  footing — fell  back  into  the  darkness. 
With  a  faint  cry  and  an  upward  throw  of  his  arms  he 
gave  up  as  a  tired  swimmer  gives  up:  because  the 
swamped  craft  is  gone  from  under  his  feet;  because 
the  night  is  dark  and  the  shore  is  far; — becau.^e  deavb 
is  better  than  strife. 


PART   II. 
I. 

The  light  and  heat  fell  upon  the  settlement,  the  clear- 
ings, and  the  river  as  if  fiung  down  by  an  angry  hand. 
The  land  lay  silent,  still,  and  brilliant  under  the  ava- 
lanche of  burning  rays  that  had  destroyed  all  sound 
and  all  motion,  had  buried  all  shadows,  had  choked 
every  breath.  No  living  thing  dared  to  affront  the 
serenity  of  this  cloudless  sky,  dared  to  revolt  against 
the  oppression  of  this  glorious  and  cruel  sunshine. 
Strength  and  resolution,  body  and  mind  alike  were 
helpless,  and  tried  to  hide  before  the  rush  of  the  fire 
from  heaven.  Only  the  frail  butterflies,  the  fearless 
children  of  the  sun,  the  capricious  tyrants  of  the  flow- 
ers, fluttered  audaciously  in  the  open,  and  their  minute 
shadows  hovered  in  swarms  over  the  drooping  blos- 
soms, ran  lightly  on  the  withering  grass,  or  glided  on 
the  dry  and  cracked  earth.  No  voice  was  heard  in  this 
hot  noontide  but  the  faint  murmur  of  the  river  that 
hurried  on  in  swirls  and  eddies,  its  sparkling  wavelets 
chasing  each  other  in  their  joyous  course  to  the  shel- 
tering depths,  to  the  cool  refuge  of  the  sea. 

Almayer  had  dismissed  his  workmen  for  the  mid- 
day rest,  and,  his  little  daughter  on  his  shoulder,  ran 
quickly  across  the  courtyard,  making  for  the  shade 
of  the  verandah  of  his  house.  He  laid  the  sleepy  child 
on  the  seat  of  the  big  rocking-chair,  on  a  pillow  which 
he  took  out  of  his  own  hammock,  and  stood  for  a  while 
looking  down  at  her  with  tender  and  pensive  eyes. 

74 


AN   OUTCAST   OF   THE   ISLANDS.  75 

The  child,  tired  and  hot,  moved  uneasily,  sighed,  and 
looked  up  at  him  with  the  veiled  look  of  sleepy  fatigue. 
He  picked  up  from  the  floor  a  broken  palm-leaf  fan, 
and  began  fanning  gently  the  flushed  little  face.  Her 
eyelids  fluttered  and  Almayer  smiled.  A  responsive 
smile  brightened  for  a  second  her  heavy  eyes,  broke 
with  a  dimple  the  soft  outline  of  her  cheek;  then  the 
eyelids  dropped  suddenly,  she  drew  a  long  breath 
through  the  parted  lips — and  was  in  a  deep  sleep  be- 
fore the  fleeting  smile  could  vanish  from  her  face. 

Almayer  moved  lightl}-  ofif,  took  one  of  the  wooden 
armchairs,  and  placing  it  close  to  the  balustrade  of  the 
verandah  sat  down  with  a  sigh  of  relief.  He  spread 
his  elbows  on  the  top  rail  and  resting  his  chin  on  his 
clasped  hands  looked  absently  at  the  river,  at  the  dance 
of  sunlight  on  the  flowing  water.  Gradually  the  forest 
of  the  further  bank  became  smaller,  as  if  sinking  below 
the  level  of  the  river.  The  outlines  wavered,  grew 
thin,  dissolved  in  the  air.  Before  his  eyes  there  was 
now  only  a  space  of  undulating  blue — one  big,  empty 
sky  growing  dark  at  times.  .  .  .  Where  was  the  sun- 
shine? .  .  .  He  felt  soothed  and  happy,  as  if  some 
gentle  and  invisible  hand  had  removed  from  his  soul 
the  burden  of  his  body.  In  another  second  he  seemed 
to  float  out  into  a  cool  brightness  where  there  was  no 
such  thing  as  memory  or  pain.  Delicious.  His  eyes 
closed — opened — closed  again. 

"Almayer!" 

With  a  sudden  jerk  of  his  whole  body  he  sat  up, 
grasping  the  front  rail  with  both  his  hands,  and  blinked 
stupidly. 

"What?  What's  that?"  he  muttered,  looking 
round  vaguely. 

"  Here!    Down  here,  Almayer." 

Half  rising  in  his  chair,  Almayer  looked  over  the 
rail  at  the  foot  of  the  verandah,  and  fell  back  with  a 
low  whistle  of  astonishment. 


•j6 


AN   OUTCAST   OF   THE    ISLANDS. 


"A  ghost,  by  heavens!"  he  exclaimed  softly  to 
himself. 

*'  Will  you  listen  to  me?  "  went  on  the  husky  voice 
from  the  courtyard.     "  May  I  come  up,  Almayer?  " 

Almayer  stood  up  and  leaned  over  the  rail. 

"  Don't  you  dare,"  he  said,  in  a  voice  subdued  but 
distinct.  "  Don't  you  dare !  The  child  sleeps  here. 
And  I  don't  want  to  hear  you — ^or  speak  to  you  either." 

**  You  must  listen  to  me!  It's  something  impor^ 
tant." 

*'  Not  to  me,  surely." 

**  Yes !    To  you.    Very  important." 

*'  You  were  always  a  humbug,"  said  Almayer,  after 
a  short  silence,  in  an  indulgent  tone.  "Always!  I 
remember  the  old  days.  Some  fellows  used  to  say 
there  was  no  one  like  you  for  smartness — but  you 
never  took  me  in.  Not  quite.  I  never  quite  believed 
in  you,  Mr.  Willems." 

''  I  admit  your  superior  intelligence,"  retorted 
Willems,  with  scornful  impatience,  from  below.  "  Lis- 
tening to  me  would  be  a  further  proof  of  it.  You  will 
be  sorry  if  you  don't." 

"Oh,  you  funny  fellow!"  said  Almayer,  banter- 
ingly.  "  Well,  come  up.  Don't  make  a  noise,  but 
come  up.  You'll  catch  a  sunstroke  down  there  and 
die  on  my  doorstep  perhaps.  I  don't  want  any  tragedy 
here.    Come  on!  " 

Before  he  finished  speaking  Willems'  head  ap- 
peared above  the  level  of  the  floor,  then  his  shoulders 
rose  gradually  and  he  stood  at  last  before  Almayer 
— a  masquerading  spectre  of  the  once  so  very  confi- 
dential clerk  of  the  richest  merchant  in  the  islands. 
His  jacket  was  soiled  and  torn ;  below  the  waist  he  was 
clothed  in  a  worn-out  and  faded  sarong.  He  flung  of¥ 
his  hat,  uncovering  his  long,  tangled  hair  that  stuck 
in  wisps  on  his  perspiring  forehead  and  straggled  over 
his  eyes,  which  glittered  deep  down  in  the  sockets 


AN  OUTCAST  OF  THE   ISLANDS. 


17 


like  the  last  sparks  amongst  the  black  embers  of  a 
burnt-out  fire.  An  unclean  beard  grew  out  of  the  cav- 
erns of  his  sunburnt  cheeks.  The  hand  he  put  out 
towards  Almayer  was  very  unsteady.  The  once  firm 
mouth  had  the  tell-tale  droop  of  mental  suffering  and 
physical  exhaustion.  He  was  barefooted.  Almayer 
surveyed  him  with  leisurely  composure. 

''Well!"  he  said  at  last,  without  taking  the  ex- 
tended hand  which  dropped  slowly  along  Willems' 
body. 

"  I  am  come,"  began  Willems. 

"  So  I  see,"  interrupted  Almayer.  *'  You  might 
have  spared  me  this  treat  without  making  me  unhappy. 
You  have  been  away  five  weeks,  if  I  am  not  mistaken. 
I  got  on  very  well  without  you — and  now  you  are  here 
you  are  not  pretty  to  look  at." 

"Let  me  speak,  will  you!"  exclaimed  Willems. 

''  Don't  shout  like  this.  Do  you  think  yourself 
in  the  forest  with  your  .  .  .  your  friends?  This  is  a 
civilised  man's  house.    A  white  man's.    Understand?  " 

"  I  am  come,"  began  Willems  again;  "  I  am  come 
for  your  good  and  mine." 

''  You  look  as  if  you  had  come  for  a  good  feed," 
chimed  in  the  irrepressible  Almayer,  while  Willems 
waved  his  hand  in  a  discouraged  gesture.  ''  Don't 
they  give  you  enough  to  eat,"  went  on  Almayer,  in  a 
tone  of  easy  banter,  ''  those — what  am  I  to  call  them 
—those  new  relations  of  yours?  That  old  blind  scoun- 
drel must  be  dehghted  with  your  company.  You 
know,  he  was  the  greatest  thief  and  murderer  of  those 
seas.  Say!  do  you  exchange  confidences?  Tell  me, 
Willems,  did  you  kill  somebody  in  Macassar,  or  did 
you  only  steal  something?  " 

"It  is  not  true!"  exclaimed  Willems,  hotly.  "I 
only  borrowed.  .  .  .  They  all  lied!     I  .  .  ." 

"  Sh-sh !  "  hissed  Almayer,  warningly,  with  a  look 
at  the  sleeping  child.     "  So  you  did  steal,"  he  went 


75 


AN   OUTCAST   OF   THE   ISLANDS. 


on,  with  repressed  exultation.  "  I  thought  there  was 
something  of  the  kind.  And  now,  here,  you  steal 
again." 

For  the  first  time  Willems  raised  his  eyes  to  Al- 
mayer's  face. 

"  Oh,  I  don't  mean  from  me.  I  haven't  missed  any- 
thing," said  Almayer,  with  mocking  haste.  "  But  that 
girl.  Hey!  You  stole  her.  You  did  not  pay  the  old 
fellow.     She  is  no  good  to  him  now,  is  she?  " 

"Stop  that,  Almayer!" 

Something  in  Willems'  tone  caused  Almayer  to 
pause.  He  looked  narrowly  at  the  man  before  him, 
and  could  not  help  being  shocked  at  his  appearance. 

"  Almayer,"  went  on  Willems,  "  listen  to  me.  If 
you  are  a  human  being  you  will.  I  suffer  horribly — 
and  for  your  sake." 

Almayer  lifted  his  eyebrows.  "  Indeed!  How? 
But  you  are  raving,"  he  added  negligently. 

"  Ah !  You  don't  know,"  whispered  Willems. 
*'  She  is  gone.  Gone,"  he  repeated,  w4th  tears  in  his 
voice,  "  gone  two  days  ago." 

"No!"  exclaimed  the  surprised  Almayer.  "Gone! 
I  haven't  heard  that  news  yet."  He  burst  into  a  sub- 
dued laugh.  "  How  funny.  Had  enough  of  you  al- 
ready? You  know  it's  not  flattering  for  you,  my  su- 
perior countryman." 

Willems — as  if  not  hearing  him — leaned  against 
one  of  the  columns  of  the  roof  and  looked  over  the 
river.  "  At  first,"  he  whispered,  dreamily,  "  my  life 
was  like  a  vision  of  heaven — or  hell;  I  didn't  know 
which.  Since  she  went  I  know  what  perdition  means; 
what  darkness  is.  I  know  what  it  is  to  be  torn  to 
pieces  alive.    That's  how  I  feel." 

"  You  may  come  and  live  with  me  again,"  said  Al- 
mayer, coldly.  "  After  all,  Lingard — whom  I  call  my 
father  and  respect  as  such — left  you  under  my  care. 
You  pleased  yourself  by  going  away.     Very  good. 


AN  OUTCAST  OF   THE   ISLANDS. 


79 


Now  you  want  to  come  back.  Be  it  so.  I  am  no 
friend  of  yours.    I  act  for  Captain  Lingard." 

''  Come  back,"  repeated  Willems,  passionately. 
"  Come  back  to  you  and  abandon  her?  Do  you  think 
I  am  mad?  Without  her!  Man!  what  are  you  made 
of?  To  think  that  she  moves,  Hves,  breathes  out  of 
my  sight.  I  am  jealous  of  the  wind  that  fans  her,  of 
the  air  she  breathes,  of  the  earth  that  receives  the 
caress  of  her  foot,  of  the  sun  that  looks  at  her  now, 
while  I  ...  I  haven't  seen  her  for  two  days — two 
days." 

The  intensity  of  Willems'  feeling  moved  Almayer 
somewhat,  but  he  affected  to  yawn  elaborately. 

*'  You  do  bore  me,"  he  muttered.  "  Why  don't 
you  go  after  her  instead  of  coming  here?  " 

"Why  indeed?" 

"  Don't  you  know  where  she  is?  She  can't  be  very 
far.  No  native  craft  has  left  this  river  for  the  last  fort- 
night." 

"  No  I  not  very  far — and  I  will  tell  you  where  she 
is.  She  is  in  Lakamba's  campong."  And  Willems 
fixed  his  eyes  steadily  on  Almayer's  face. 

"  Phew!  Patalolo  never  sent  to  let  me  know. 
Strange,"  said  Almayer,  thoughtfully.  "  Are  you 
afraid  of  that  lot?  "  he  added,  after  a  short  pause. 

"I— afraid!" 

*'  Then  is  it  the  care  of  your  dignity  which  pre- 
vents you  from  following  her  there,  my  high-minded 
friend?"  asked  Almayer,  with  mock  solicitude. 
"  How  noble  of  you !  " 

There  was  a  short  silence;  then  Willems  said, 
quietly,  "  You  are  a  fool.    I  should  like  to  kick  you." 

"No  fear,"  answered  Almayer,  carelessly;  "you 
are  too  weak  for  that.    You  look  starved." 

"  I  don't  think  I  have  eaten  anything  for  the  last 
two  days;  perhaps  more — I  don't  remember.  It  does 
not  matter.    I  am  full  of  live  embers,"  said  Willems, 


80  AN  OUTCAST  OF  THE  ISLANDS. 

gloomily.  "  Look!  "  and  he  bared  an  arm  covered 
with  fresh  scars.  "  I  have  been  biting  myself  to  for- 
get in  that  pain  the  fire  that  hurts  me  there!"  He 
struck  his  breast  violently  with  his  fist,  reeled  under 
his  own  blow,  fell  into  a  chair  that  stood  near  and 
closed  his  eyes  slowly. 

"  Disgoasting  exhibition,"  said  Almayer,  loftily. 
"  What  could  father  ever  see  in  you?/  You  are  as  es- 
timable as  a  heap  of  garbage." 

"  You  talk  like  that!  You,  who  sold  your  soul  for 
a  few  guilders,"  muttered  Willems,  wearily,  without 
opening  his  eyes. 

*'  Not  so  few,"  said  Almayer,  with  instinctive  readi- 
ness, and^stopped  confused  for  a  moment.  He  recov- 
ered himself  quickly,  however,  and  went  on:  "  But 
you — you  have  thrown  yours  away  for  nothing ;  flung 
it  under  the  feet  of  a  damned  savage  woman  who  has 
made  you  already  the  thing  you  are,  and  will  kill  you 
very  soon,  one  way  or  another,  with  her  love  or  with 
her  hate.  You  spoke  just  now  about  guilders.  You 
meant  Lingard's  money,  I  suppose.  Well,  whatever 
I  have  sold,  and  for  whatever  price,  I  never  meant  you 
— you  of  all  people — to  spoil  my  bargain.  I  feel  pretty 
safe  though.  Even  father,  even  Captain  Lingard, 
would  not  touch  you  now  with  a  pair  of  tongs;  not 
with  a  ten-foot  pole." 

He  spoke  excitedly,  all  in  one  breath,  and,  ceasing 
suddenly,  glared  at  Willems  and  breathed  hard  through 
his  nose  in  an  excess  of  sulky  resentment.  Willems 
looked  at  him  steadily  for  a  moment,  then  got  up. 

*'  Almayer,"  he  said  resolutely,  "  I  want  to  become 
a  trader  in  this  place." 

Almayer  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  Yes.  And  you  shall  set  me  up.  I  want  a  house 
and  trade  goods — perhaps  a  little  money.  I  ask  you 
for  it." 

"Anything  else  you  want?     Perhaps  this  coat?" 


AN   OUTCAST   OF   THE   ISLANDS.  8 1 

and  here  Almayer  unbuttoned  his  jacket — ''  or  my 
house — or  my  boots?  " 

"  After  all  it's  natural,"  went  on  Willems,  without 
paying  any  attention  to  Almayer — ''  it's  natural  that 
she  should  expect  the  advantages  which  .  .  .  and 
then  I  could  shut  up  that  old  wretch  and  then  .  .  ." 

He  paused,  his  face  brightened  with  the  soft  light 
of  dreamy  enthusiasm,  and  he  turned  his  eyes  upwards. 
With  his  gaunt  figure  and  dilapidated  appearance  he 
looked  like  some  ascetic  dweller  in  a  wilderness,  find- 
ing the  reward  of  a  self-denying  life  in  a  vision  of 
dazzling  glory.  He  went  on  in  an  impassioned  mur- 
mur— 

"  And  then  I  would  have  her  all  to  myself  away 
from  her  people — all  to  myself — under  my  own  influ- 
ence— to  fashion — to  mould — to  adore — to  soften — to 
.  .  .  Oh!  Delight!  And  then — then  go  away  to  some 
distant  place  where,  far  from  all  she  knew,  I  would  be 
all  the  world  to  her!    All  the  world  to  her!  " 

His  face  changed  suddenly.  His  eyes  wandered 
for  a  while  and  then  became  steady  all  at  once. 

"  I  would  repay  every  cent,  of  course,"  he  said,  in  a 
business-like  tone,  with  something  of  his  old  assurance, 
of  his  old  belief  in  himself,  in  it.  "  Every  cent.  I  need 
not  interfere  with  your  business.  I  shall  cut  out  the 
small  native  traders.  I  have  ideas — but  never  mind 
that  now.  And  Captain  Lingard  would  approve,  I 
feel  sure.  After  all  it's  a  loan,  and  I  shall  be  at  hand. 
Safe  thing  for  you." 

''Ah!  Captain  Lingard  would  approve !  He  would 
app  .  .  ."  Almayer  choked.  The  notion  of  Lingard 
doing  something  for  Willems  enraged  him.  His  face 
was  purple.  He  spluttered  insulting  words.  Willems 
looked  at  him  coolly. 

"  I  assure  you,  Almayer,"  he  said,  gently,  "  that  I 
have  good  grounds  for  my  demand." 

*'  Your  cursed  impudence!  " 


32  AN   OUTCAST   OF   THE   ISLANDS. 

Believe  me,  Almayer,  your  position  here  is  not  so 
safe  as  you  may  think.  An  unscrupulous  rival  here 
would  destroy  your  trade  in  a  year.  It  would  be  ruin. 
Now  Lingard's  long  absence  gives  courage  to  certain 
individuals.  You  know? — I  have  heard  much  lately. 
They  made  proposals  to  me  .  .  .  You  are  very  much 
alone  here.    Even  Patalolo  .  .  ." 

*'  Damn  Patalolo!     I  am  master  in  this  place." 

"  But,  Almayer,  don't  you  see  .  .  ." 

"  Yes,  I  see.  I  see  a  mysterious  ass,"  interrupted 
Almayer,  violently.  "  What  is  the  meaning  of  your 
veiled  threats?  Don't  you  think  I  know  something 
also?  They  have  been  intriguing  for  years— and 
nothing  has  happened.  The  Arabs  have  been  hang- 
ing about  outside  this  river  for  years — and  I  am 
still  the  only  trader  here;  the  master  here.  Do 
you  bring  me  a  declaration  of  war?  Then  it's  from 
yourself  only.  I  know  all  my  other  enemies.  I  ought 
to  knock  you  on  the  head.  You  are  not  worth  powder 
and  shot  though.  You  ought  to  be  destroyed  with  a 
Btick — like  a  snake." 

Almayer's  voice  woke  up  the  little  girl,  who  sat  up 
on  the  pillow  with  a  sharp  cry.  He  rushed  over  to 
the  chair,  caught  up  the  child  in  his  arms,  walked  back 
blindly,  stumbled  against  Willems'  hat  which  lay  on 
the  floor,  and  kicked  it  furiously  down  the  steps. 

*' Clear  out  of  this!     Clear  out!"  he  shouted. 

Willems  made  an  attempt  to  speak,  but  Almayer 
howled  him  down. 

"  Get  out!  Get  out!  Get  out!  Don't  you  see  you 
frighten  the  child — you  scarecrow!  No!  no!  dear," 
he  went  on  to  his  little  daughter,  soothingly,  while 
Willems  walked  down  the  steps  slowly.  "  No.  Don't 
cry.  See!  Bad  man  going  away.  Look!  He  is  afraid 
of  your  papa.  Nasty,  bad  man.  Never  come  back 
again.  He  shall  live  in  the  woods  and  never  come 
near  my  little  girl.     If  he  comes  papa  will  kill  him — 


AN   OUTCAST    OF   THE   ISLANDS.  83 

so!  "  He  struck  his  fist  on  the  rail  of  the  bakistrade 
to  show  how  he  would  kill  Willems,  and,  perching  the 
consoled  child  on  Ins  shoulder  held  her  with  one  hand, 
w^hile  he  pointed  towards  the  retreating  figure  of  his 
visitor. 

"  Look  how  he  runs  away,  dearest,"  he  said,  coax- 
ingly.  "  Isn't  he  funny.  Call  '  pig  '  after  him,  dearest. 
Call  after  him." 

The  seriousness  of  her  face  vanished  into  dimples. 
Under  the  long  eyelashes,  glistening  with  recent  tears, 
her  big  eyes  sparkled  and  danced  with  fun.  She  took 
firm  hold  of  Almayer  s  hair  with  one  hand,  while  she 
waved  the  other  joyously  and  called  out  with  all  her 
might,  in  a  clear  note,  soft  and  distinct  like  the  tw^itter^ 
of  a  bird: — 

"Pig!     Pig!     Pig!" 


11. 


A  sigh  under  the  flaming  blue,  a  shiver  of  the  sleep- 
ing sea,  a  cool  breath  as  if  a  door  had  been  swung  upon 
the  frozen  spaces  of  the  universe,  and  with  a  stir  of 
leaves,  with  the  nod  of  boughs,  with  the  tremble  of 
slender  branches  the  sea  breeze  struck  the  coast,  rushed 
up  the  river,  swept  round  the  broad  reaches,  and  trav- 
elled on  in  a  soft  ripple  of  darkening  water,  in  the 
w^hisper  of  branches,  in  the  rustle  of  leaves  of  the  awak- 
ened forests.  It  fanned  in  Lakamba's  campong  the 
dull  red  of  expiring  embers  into  a  pale  brilliance ;  and, 
under  its  touch,  the  slender,  upright  spirals  of  smoke 
that  rose  from  every  glownng  heap  swayed,  wavered, 
and  eddying  down  filled  the  twilight  of  clustered  shade 
trees  with  the  aromatic  scent  of  the  burning  wood. 
The  men  who  had  been  dozing  in  the  shade  during 


84  AN   OUTCAST   OF   THE    ISLANDS. 

the  hot  hours  of  the  afternoon  woke  up,  and  the  silence 
of  the  big  courtyard  was  broken  by  the  hesitating  mur- 
mur of  yet  sleepy  voices,  by  coughs  and  yawns,  wuth 
now  and  then  a  burst  of  laughter,  a  loud  hail,  a  name 
or  a  joke  sent  out  in  a  soft  drawl.  Small  groups 
squatted  round  the  little  fires,  and  the  monotonous 
undertone  of  talk  filled  the  enclosure;  the  talk  of  bar- 
barians, persistent,  steady,  repeating  itself  in  the  soft 
syllables,  in  musical  tones  of  the  never-ending  dis- 
courses of  those  men  of  the  forests  and  the  sea,  who 
can  talk  most  of  the  day  and  all  the  night;  who  never 
exhaust  a  subject,  never  seem  able  to  thresh  a  matter 
out;  to  whom  that  talk  is  poetry  and  painting  and 
music,  all  art,  all  history;  their  only  accompHshment, 
their  only  superiority,  their  only  amusement.  The  talk 
of  camp  fires,  which  speaks  of  bravery  and  cunning, 
of  strange  events  and  of  far  countries,  of  the  news  oi 
yesterday  and  the  news  of  to-morrow.  The  talk  about 
the  dead  and  the  living — about  those  who  fought  and 
those  who  loved. 

Lakamba  came  out  on  the  platform  before  his  own 
house  and  sat  down — perspiring,  half  asleep,  and  sulky 
— in  a  wooden  armchair  under  the  shade  of  the  over- 
hanging eaves.  Through  the  darkness  of  the  doorway 
he  could  hear  the  soft  warbling  of  his  womenkind, 
busy  round  the  looms  where  they  were  weaving  the 
checkered  pattern  of  his  gala  sarongs.  Right  and  left 
of  him  on  the  flexible  bamboo  floor  those  of  his  fol- 
lowers to  whom  their  distinguished  birth,  long  de- 
votion, or  faithful  service  had  given  the  privilege  of 
using  the  chief's  house,  were  sleeping  on  mats  or  just 
sat  up  rubbing  their  eyes:  while  the  more  wakeful  had 
mustered  enough  energy  to  draw  a  chessboard  with 
red  clay  on  a  fine  mat  and  were  now  meditating  si- 
lently over  their  moves.  Above  the  prostrate  forms 
of  the  players,  who  lay  face  downward  supported  on 
elbow,  the  soles  of  their  feet  waving  irresolutely  about, 


AN   OUTCAST  OF  THE  ISLANDS.  85 

in  the  absorbed  meditation  of  the  game,  there  towered 
here  and  there  the  straight  figure  of  an  attentive  spec- 
tator looking  down  with  dispassionate  but  profound 
interest.  On  the  edge  of  the  platform  a  row  of  high- 
heeled  leather  sandals  stood  ranged  carefully  in  a  level 
line,  and  against  the  rough  wooden  rail  leaned  the 
slender  shafts  of  the  spears  belonging  to  these  gentle- 
men, the  broad  blades  of  dulled  steel  looking  very 
black  in  the  reddening  light  of  approaching  sunset. 

A  boy  of  about  twelve — the  personal  attendant  of 
Lakamba— squatted  at  his  master's  feet  and  held  up 
towards  him  a  silver  siri  box.  Slowly  Lakamba  took 
the  box,  opened  it,  and  tearing  off  a  piece  of  green 
leaf  deposited  in  it  a  pinch  of  hme,  a  morsel  of  gam- 
bier,  a  small  bit  of  areca  nut,  and  wrapped  up  the  whole 
with  a  dexterous  twist.  He  paused,  morsel  in  hand, 
seemed  to  miss  something,  turned  his  head  from  side 
to  side,  slowly,  like  a  man  with  a  stiff  neck,  and  ejacu- 
lated in  an  ill-humoured  bass — 

'^Babalatchi!" 

The  players  glanced  up  quickly,  and  looked  down 
again  directly.  Those  men  who  were  standing  stirred 
uneasily  as  if  prodded  by  the  sound  of  the  chief's  voice. 
The  one  nearest  to  Lakamba  repeated  the  call,  after  a 
while,  over  the  rail  into  the  courtyard.  There  was  a 
movement  of  upturned  faces  below  by  the  fires,  and 
the  cry  trailed  over  the  enclosure  in  sing-song  tones. 
The  thumping  of  wooden  pestles  husking  the  evening 
rice  stopped  for  a  moment  and  Babalatchi's  name  rang 
afresh  shrilly  on  women's  lips  in  various  keys.  A  voice 
far  off  shouted  something — another,  nearer,  repeated 
it;  there  was  a  short  hubbub  which  died  out  with  ex- 
treme suddenness.  The  first  crier  turned  to  Lakamba, 
saying  indolently — 
^  "  He  is  with  the  blind  Omar." 

Lakamba's  lips  moved  inaudibly.  The  man  who 
had  just  spoken  was  again  deeply  absorbed  in  the 


86  AN  OUTCAST   OF   THE   ISLANDS. 

game  going  on  at  his  feet;  and  the  chief — as  if  he  had 
forgotten  all  about  it  already — sat  with  a  stolid  face 
amongst  his  silent  followers,  leaning  back  squarely  in 
his  chair,  his  hands  on  the  arms  of  his  seat,  his  knees 
apart,  his  big  blood-shot  eyes  blinking  solemnly,  as  if 
dazzled  by  the  noble  vacuity  of  his  thoughts. 

Babalatchi  had  gone  to  see  old  Omar  late  in  the 
afternoon.  The  delicate  manipulation  of  the  ancient 
pirate's  susceptibilities,  the  skilful  management  of 
Aissa's  violent  impulses  engrossed  him  to  the  exclu- 
sion of  every  other  business — interfered  with  his  regU' 
lar  attendance  upon  his  chief  and  protector — even  dis- 
turbed his  sleep  for  the  last  three  nights,  as  his  wife — 
the  gift  of  Lakamba — had  remarked,  with  piercing  and 
reproachful  volubility,  more  than  once.  That  day  when 
he  left  his  own  bamboo  hut — which  stood  amongst 
others  in  Lakamba's  campong — his  heart  was  heavy 
with  anxiety  and  with  doubt  as  to  the  success  of  his 
intrigue.  He  walked  slowly,  with  his  usual  air  of  de- 
tachment from  his  surroundings,  as  if  unaware  that 
many  sleepy  eyes  watched  from  all  parts  of  the  court- 
yard his  progress  towards  a  small  gate  at  its  upper  end. 
That  gate  gave  access  to  a  separate  enclosure  in  which 
a  rather  large  house,  built  of  planks,  had  been  prepared 
by  Lakamba's  orders  for  the  reception  of  Omar  and 
Aissa.  It  was  a  superior  kind  of  habitation  which  La- 
kamba intended  for  the  dwelling  of  his  chief  adviser 
— whose  abilities  were  worth  that  honour,  he  thought. 
But  after  the  consultation  in  the  deserted  clearing — • 
when  Babalatchi  had  disclosed  his  plan — they  both 
had  agreed  that  the  new  house  should  be  used  at  first 
to  shelter  Omar  and  Aissa  after  they  had  been  per- 
suaded to  leave  the  Raiah's  place,  or  had  been  kid- 
napped from  there — as  the  case  might  be.  Babalatchi 
did  not  mind  in  the  least  the  putting  of¥  of  his  own  oc- 
cvipation  of  the  house  of  honour,  because  it  had  many 
advantages  for  the  quiet  working  out  of  his  plans.    It 


AN  OUTCAST  OF   THE   ISLANDS.  8/ 

had  a  certain  seclusion,  having  an  enclosure  of  its  own, 
and  that  enclosure  communicated  also  with  Lakam- 
ba's  private  courtyard  at  the  back  of  his  residence — 
a  place  set  apart  for  the  female  household  of  the  chief. 
The  only  communication  with  the  river  w^as  through 
the  great  front  courtyard  always  full  of  armed  men 
and  watchful  eyes.  Behind  the  whole  group  of  build- 
ings there  stretched  the  level  ground  of  rice-clearings, 
which  in  their  turn  were  closed  in  by  the  wall  of  un- 
touched forests  with  undergrowth  so  thick  and  tangled 
that  nothing  but  a  bullet — and  that  fired  at  pretty  close 
range — could  penetrate  any  distance  there. 

Babalatchi  slipped  quietly  through  the  little  gate 
and,  closing  it,  tied  up  carefully  the  rattan  fastenings. 
Before  the  house  there  was  a  square  space  of  ground, 
beaten  hard  into  the  level  smoothness  of  asphalte. 
A  big  buttressed  tree,  a  giant  left  there  on  purpose  dur- 
ing the  process  of  clearing  the  land,  roofed  in  the  clear 
space  with  a  high  canopy  of  gnarled  boughs  and  thick, 
sombre  leaves.  To  the  right — and  some  small  dis- 
tance away  from  the  large  house — a  little  hut  of  reeds, 
covered  with  mats,  had  been  put  up  for  the  special 
convenience  of  Omar,  who,  being  bHnd  and  infirm, 
had  some  difificulty  in  ascending  the  steep  plankway 
that  led  to  the  more  substantial  dwelling,  which  was 
built  on  low  posts  and  had  an  uncovered  verandah. 
Close  by  the  trunk  of  the  tree,  and  facing  the  doorway 
of  the  hut,  the  household  fire  glowed  in  a  small  handful 
of  embers  in  the  midst  of  a  large  circle  of  white  ashes. 
An  old  woman — some  humble  relation  of  one  of  La- 
kamba's  wives,  who  had  been  ordered  to  attend  on 
Aissa — was  squatting  over  the  fire  and  lifted  up  her 
bleared  eyes  to  gaze  at  Babalatchi  in  an  uninterested 
manner,  as  he  advanced  rapidly  across  the  courtyard. 

Babalatchi  took  in  the  courtyard  with  a  keen  glance 
of  his  solitary  eye,  and  without  looking  down  at  the 
old  woman  muttered  a  question.    Silently,  the  woman 


88  AN   OUTCAST   OF   THE    ISLANDS. 

Stretched  a  tremulous  and  emaciated  arm  towards  the 
hut.  Babalatchi  made  a  few  steps  toward  the  door- 
way, but  stopped  outside  in  the  sunHght. 

"O!  Tuan  Omar,  Omar  besar!  It  is  I — Baba- 
latchi!" 

Within  the  hut  there  was  a  feeble  groan,  a  fit  of 
coughing  and  an  indistinct  murmur  in  the  broken 
tones  of  a  vague  plaint.  Encouraged  evidently  by  those 
signs  of  dismal  life  within,  Babalatchi  entered  the  hut, 
and  after  some  time  came  out  leading  with  rigid  care- 
fulness the  blind  Omar,  who  followed  with  both  his 
hands  on  his  guide's  shoulders.  There  was  a  rude  seat 
under  the  tree,  and  there  Babalatchi  led  his  old  chief, 
who  sat  down  with  a  sigh  of  relief  and  leaned  wearily 
against  the  rugged  trunk.  The  rays  of  the  setting  sun, 
darting  under  the  spreading  branches,  rested  on  the 
white-robed  figure  sitting  with  head  thrown  back  in 
stifif  dignity,  on  the  thin  hands  moving  uneasily,  and 
on  the  stolid  face  with  its  eyelids  dropped  over  the 
destroyed  eyeballs;  a  face  set  into  the  immobility  of 
a  plaster  cast  yellowed  by  age. 

"  Is  the  sun  near  its  setting?"  asked  Omar,  in  a 
dull  voice. 

*'  Very  near,"  answered  Babalatchi. 

"  Where  am  I  ?  Why  have  I  been  taken  away  from 
the  place  which  I  knew — where  I,  blind,  could  move 
without  fear.  It  is  like  black  night  to  those  who  see. 
And  the  sun  is  near  its  setting — and  I  have  not  heard 
the  sound  of  her  footsteps  since  the  morning!  Twice 
a  strange  hand  has  given  me  my  food  to-day.  Why? 
Why?     Where  is  she?" 

"  She  is  near,"  said  Babalatchi. 

"  And  he?  "  went  on  Omar,  with  sudden  eagerness, 
and  a  drop  in  his  voice.  "  Where  is  he?  Not  here. 
Not  here!  "  he  repeated,  turning  his  head  from  side  to 
side  as  if  in  deliberate  attempt  to  see. 

"  No!    He  is  not  here  now,"  said  Babalatchi,  sooth- 


AN   OUTCAST   OF   THE    ISLANDS.  89 

ingly.    Then,  after  a  pause,  he  added  very  low,  "  But 
he  shall  soon  return." 

"Return!  O  crafty  one!  Will  he  return?  I  have 
cursed  him  three  times,"  exclaimed  Omar,  with  weak 
violence. 

"  He  is — no  doubt — accursed,"  assented  Babalat- 
chi,  in  a  conciliating  manner — "  and  yet  he  will  be  here 
before  very  long — I  know !  " 

''  You  are  crafty  and  faithless.  I  have  made  you 
great.  You  were  dirt  under  my  feet — less  than  dirt," 
said  Omar,  with  tremulous  energy. 

"  I  have  fought  by  your  side  many  times,"  said 
Babalatchi,  calmly. 

"  Why  did  he  come?  "  went  on  Omar.  "  Did  you 
send  him?  Why  did  he  come  to  defile  the  air  I  breathe 
— to  mock  at  my  fate — to  poison  her  mind  and  steal 
her  body.  She  has  grown  hard  of  heart  to  me.  Hard 
and  merciless  and  stealthy  like  rocks  that  tear  a  ship's 
life  out  under  the  smooth  sea."  He  drew  a  long  breath, 
struggled  with  his  anger,  then  broke  down  suddenly. 
*'  I  have  been  hungry,"  he  continued,  in  a  whimpering 
tone — "  often  I  have  been  very  hungry — and  cold — 
and  neglected — and  nobody  near  me.  She  has  often 
forgotten  me — and  my  sons  are  dead,  and  that  man 
is  an  infidel  and  a  dog.  Why  did  he  come?  Did  you 
show  him  the  way?  " 

"  He  found  the  way  himself,  O  Leader  of  the 
brave,"  said  Babalatchi,  sadly.  "  I  only  saw  a  way 
for  their  destruction  and  our  own  greatness.  And 
if  I  saw  aright,  then  you  shall  never  suffer  from  hun- 
ger any  more.  There  shall  be  peace  for  us,  and  glory 
and  riches." 

"  And  I  shall  die  to-morrow,"  murmured  Omar, 
bitterly. 

"Who  knows?  Those  things  have  been  written 
since  the  beginning  of  the  world,"  whispered  Baba- 
latchi, thoughtfully. 


QO  AN   OUTCAST   OF   THE   ISLANDS. 

*'  Do  not  let  him  come  back,"  exclaimed  Omar. 

"  Neither  can  he  escape  his  fate,"  went  on  Baba- 
latchi.  "  He  shall  come  back,  and  the  power  of  men 
we  always  hated,  you  and  I,  shall  crumble  into  dust  in 
our  hand."  Then  he  added  with  enthusiasm,  ''  They 
shall  fight  amongst  themselves  and  perish  both." 

"  And  you  shall  see  all  this,  while,  I  .  .  ." 

''True!"  murmured  Babalatchi,  regretfully.  "To 
you  life  is  darkness." 

"  No!  Flame!  "  exclaimed  the  old  Arab,  half  ris- 
ing, then  falling  back  in  his  seat.  "  The  flame  of  that 
last  day!  I  see  it  yet — the  last  thing  I  saw!  And  I 
hear  the  noise  of  the  rent  earth — when  they  all  died. 
And  I  live  to  be  the  plaything  of  a  crafty  one,"  he 
added,  with  inconsequential  peevishness. 

''  You  are  my  master  still,"  said  Babalatchi,  hum- 
bly. "  You  are  very  wise — and  in  your  wisdom  you 
shall  speak  to  Syed  Abdulla  when  he  comes  here — 
you  shall  speak  to  him  as  I  advised,  I,  your  servant, 
the  man  who  fought  at  your  right  hand  for  many 
years.  I  have  heard  by  a  messenger  that  the  Syed 
Abdulla  is  coming  to-night,  perhaps  late;  for  those 
things  must  be  done  secretly,  lest  the  white  man,  the 
trader  up  the  river,  should  know  of  them.  But  he 
will  be  here.  There  has  been  a  surat  delivered  to  La- 
kamba.  In  it,  Syed  Abdulla  says  he  will  leave  his 
ship,  which  is  anchored  outside  the  river,  at  the  hour 
of  noon  to-day.  He  will  be  here  before  daylight  if 
Allah  wills." 

He  spoke  with  his  eye  fixed  on  the  ground,  and 
did  not  become  aware  of  Aissa's  presence  till  he  lifted 
his  head  when  he  ceased  speaking.  She  had  ap- 
proached so  quietly  that  even  Omar  did  not  hear  her 
footsteps,  and  she  stood  now  looking  at  them  with 
troubled  eyes  and  parted  lips,  as  if  she  was  going  to 
speak;  but  at  Babalatchi's  entreating  gesture  she  re- 
mained silent.     Omar  sat  absorbed  in  thought. 


AN   OUTCAST   OF   THE   ISLANDS. 


91 


"  Ay  wa !  Even  so !  "  he  said  at  last,  in  a  weak 
voice.  "  I  am  to  speak  your  wisdom,  O  Babalatchi! 
Tell  him  to  trust  the  white  man!  I  do  not  under- 
stand. I  am  old  and  blind  and  weak.  I  do  not  un- 
derstand. I  am  very  cold,"  he  continued,  in  a  lower 
tone,  moving  his  shoulders  uneasily.  He  ceased,  then 
went  on  rambhng  in  a  faint  whisper.  "  They  are  the 
sons  of  witches,  and  their  father  is  Satan  the  stoned. 
Sons  of  witches.  Sons  of  witches."  After  a  short 
silence  he  asked  suddenly,  in  a  firmer  voice — "  How 
many  white  men  are  there  here,  O  crafty  one?" 

"  There  are  two  here.  Two  white  men  to  fight 
one  another,"  answered  Babalatchi,  with  alacrity. 

''  And  how  many  will  be  left  then?  How  many? 
Tell  me,  you  who  are  wise." 

''  The  downfall  of  an  enemy  is  the  consolation  of 
the  unfortunate,"  said  Babalatchi,  sententiously. 
**  They  are  on  every  sea;  only  the  wisdom  of  the 
Most  High  knows  their  number — but  you  shall  know 
that  some  of  them  sufifer." 

'*  Tell  me,  Babalatchi,  will  they  die?  Will  they 
both  die?"  asked  Omar,  in  sudden  agitation. 

Ai'ssa  made  a  movement.  Babalatchi  held  up  a 
warning  hand. 

"  They  shall,  surely,  die,"  he  said  steadily,  looking 
at  the  girl  with  unflinching  eye. 

*' Ay  wa!  But  die  soon!  So  that  I  can  pass  my 
hand  over  their  faces  when  Allah  has  made  them 
stiff." 

"'  If  such  is  their  fate  and  yours,"  answered  Baba- 
latchi, without  hesitation.     "  God  is  great!  " 

A  violent  fit  of  coughing  doubled  Omar  up,  and 
he  rocked  himself  to  and  fro,  wheezing  and  moaning 
in  turns,  while  Babalatchi  and  the  girl  looked  at  him 
in  silence.  Then  he  leaned  back  against  the  tree,  ex- 
hausted. 

"  I  am  alone,  I  am  alone,"  he  wailed  feebly,  grop- 
9 


92 


AN   OUTCAST   OF   THE   ISLANDS. 


ing  vaguely  about  with  his  trembhng  hands.  "  Is 
there  anybody  near  me?  Is  there  anybody?  I  am 
afraid  of  this  strange  place." 

"  I  am  by  your  side,  O  Leader  of  the  brave,"  said 
Babalatchi,  touching  his  shoulder  lightly.  ''  Always 
by  your  side  as  in  the  days  when  we  both  were  young: 
as  in  the  time  when  we  both  went  with  arms  in  our 
hands." 

*' Has  there  been  such  a  time,  Babalatchi?"  said 
Omar,  wildly;  "  I  have  forgotten.  And  now  when 
I  die  there  will  be  no  man,  no  fearless  man  to  speak 
of  his  father's  bravery.  There  was  a  woman!  A  wo- 
man! And  she  has  forsaken  me  for  an  infidel  dog. 
The  hand  of  the  Compassionate  is  heavy  on  my  head! 
Oh,  my  calamity !     Oh,  my  shame !  " 

He  calmed  down  after  a  while,  and  asked  quietly 
—"Is  the  sun  set,  Babalatchi?" 

"  It  is  now  as  low  as  the  highest  tree  I  can  see 
from  here,"  answered  Babalatchi. 

"  It  is  the  time  of  prayer,"  said  Omar,  attempting 
to  get  up. 

Dutifully  Babalatchi  helped  his  old  chief  to  rise, 
and  they  walked  slowly  towards  the  hut.  Omar 
waited  outside,  while  Babalatchi  went  in  and  came 
out  directly,  dragging  after  him  the  old  Arab's  pray- 
ing carpet.  Out  of  a  brass  vessel  he  poured  the  water 
of  absolution  on  Omar's  outstretched  hands,  and 
eased  him  carefully  down  into  a  kneeling  posture,  for 
the  venerable  robber  was  far  too  infirm  to  be  able  to 
stand.  Then  as  Omar  droned  out  the  first  words  and 
made  his  first  bow  towards  the  Holy  City,  Babalatchi 
stepped  noiselessly  towards  Aissa,  who  did  not  move 
all  that  time. 

Aissa  looked  steadily  at  the  one-eyed  sage,  who 
was  approaching  her  slowly  and  with  a  great  show 
of  deference.  For  a  moment  they  stood  facing  each 
other  in  silence.     Babalatchi  appeared  embarrassed. 


AN   OUTCAST   OF   THE   ISLANDS.  03 

With  a  sudden  and  quick  gesture  she  caught  hold 
of  his  arm,  and  with  the  other  hand  pointed  towards 
the  sinking  red  disc  that  glowed,  rayless,  through  the 
floating  mists  of  the  evening. 

"The  third  sunset!  The  last!  And  he  is  not 
here,"  she  whispered;  ''what  have  you  done,  man 
without  faith?     What  have  you  done?" 

"  Indeed  I  have  kept  my  word,"  murmured  Baba- 
latchi,  earnestly.  ''  This  morning  Bulangi  went  with 
a  canoe  to  look  for  him.  He  is  a  strange  man,  but 
our  friend,  and  shall  keep  close  to  him  and  watch  him 
without  ostentation.  And  at  the  third  hour  of  the 
day  I  have  sent  another  canoe  with  four  rowers.  In- 
deed, the  man  you  long  for,  O  daughter  of  Omar! 
may  come  when  he  likes." 

"  But  he  is  not  here!  I  waited  for  him  yesterday. 
To-day!     To-morrow  I  shall  go." 

''Not  alive!"  muttered  Babalatchi  to  himself. 
"  And  do  you  doubt  your  power,"  he  went  on  in  a 
louder  tone — "  you  that  to  him  are  more  beautiful 
than  a  houri  of  the  seventh  heaven.    He  is  your  slave." 

"  A  slave  does  run  away  sometimes,"  she  said, 
gloomily,  "  and  then  the  master  must  go  and  seek  him 
out." 

"  And  do  you  want  to  live  and  die  a  beggar? " 
asked  Babalatchi,  impatiently. 

"  I  care  not,"  she  exclaimed,  wringing  her  hands; 
and  the  black  pupils  of  her  wide-open  eyes  darted 
wildly  here  and  there  like  petrels  before  the  storm. 

"Sh!  Sh!"  hissed  Babalatchi,  with  a  glance  to- 
wards Omar.  "  Do  you  think,  O  girl !  that  he  him- 
self would  live  like  a  beggar,  even  with  you?" 

"  He  is  great,"  she  said,  ardently.  "  He  despises 
you  all!    He  despises  you  all!    He  is  indeed  a  man!  " 

"  Y©u  know  that  best,"  muttered  Babalatchi,  with 
a  fmgitive  smile — "  but  remember,  woman  with  the 
strong  heart,  that  to  hold  him  now  you  must  be  to 


94 


AN    OUTCAST   OF   THE    ISLANDS. 


him  like  the  great  sea  to  thirsty  men — a  never-ceasing 
torment,   and  a  madness." 

He  ceased  and  they  stood  in  silence,  both  looking 
on  the  ground,  and  for  a  time  nothing  was  heard 
above  the  crackling  of  the  fire  but  the  intoning  of 
Omar  glorifying  the  God — his  God,  and  the  Faith — 
his  faith.  Then  Babalatchi  cocked  his  head  on  one 
side  and  appeared  to  listen  intently  to  the  hum  of 
voices  in  the  big  courtyard.  The  dull  noise  swelled 
into  distinct  shouts,  then  into  a  great  tumult  of  voices, 
dying  away,  recommencing,  growing  louder,  to  cease 
again  abruptly;  and  in  those  short  pauses  the  shrill 
vociferations  of  women  rushed  up,  as  if  released,  to- 
wards the  (juiet  heaven.  Aissa  and  Babalatchi  started, 
but  the  latter  gripped  in  his  turn  the  girl's  arm  and 
restrained  her  with  a  strong  grasp. 

*'  Wait,"  he  whispered. 

The  little  door  in  the  heavy  stockade  which  sepa- 
rated Lakamba's  private  ground  from  Omar's  enclos- 
ure swung  back  quickly,  and  the  noble  exile  ap- 
peared with  disturbed  mien  and  a  naked  short  sword 
in  his  hand.  His  turban  was  half  unrolled,  and  the 
end  trailed  on  the  ground  behind  him.  His  jacket 
was  open.  He  breathed  thickly  for  a  moment  before 
he  spoke. 

"  He  came  in  Bulangi's  boat,"  he  said,  "  and 
walked  quietly  till  he  was  in  my  presence,  when  the 
senseless  fury  of  white  men  caused  him  to  rush  upon 
me.  I  have  been  in  great  danger,"  went  on  the  am- 
bitious nobleman  in  an  aggrieved  tone.  "  Do  you 
hear  that,  Babalatchi?  That  eater  of  swine  aimed  a 
blow  at  my  face  with  his  unclean  fist.  He  tried  to 
rush  amongst  my  household.  Six  men  are  holding 
him  now." 

A  fresh  outl)urst  of  yells  stopped  Lakamba's  dis- 
course. Angry  voices  shouted:  "Hold  him.  Beat 
him  down.     Strike  at  his  head."     Then  the  clamour 


AN   OUTCAST   OF   THE   ISLANDS. 


95 


ceased  with  sudden  completeness,  as  if  strangled  by  a 
mighty  hand,  and  after  a  second  of  surprising  silence 
the  voice  of  Willems  was  heard  alone,  howling  male- 
dictions in  Malay,  in  Dutch,  and  in  English. 

"  Listen,"  said  Lakamba,  speaking  with  unsteady 
lips,  ''  he  blasphemes  his  God.  His  speech  is  like  the 
raving  of  a  mad  dog.  Can  we  hold  him  for  ever? 
He  must  be  killed !  " 

'*  Fool!  "  muttered  Babalatchi,  looking  up  at  A'is- 
sa,  who  stood  with  set  teeth,  with  gleaming  eyes  and 
distended  nostrils,  yet  obedient  to  the  touch  of  his 
restraining  hand.  "  It  is  the  third  day,  and  I  have 
kept  my  promnse,"  he  said  to  her,  speaking  very  low. 
"  Remember,"  he  added  warningly — "  like  the  sea  to 
the  thirsty!  And  now,"  he  said  aloud,  releasing  her 
and  stepping  back,  ''go,  fearless  daughter,  go!" 

Like  an  arrow,  rapid  and  silent  she  flew  down  the 
enclosure,  and  disappeared  through  the  gate  of  the 
courtyard.  Lakamba  and  Babalatchi  looked  after 
her.  They  heard  the  renewed  tumult,  the  girl's  clear 
voice  calling  out,  ''  Let  him  go!  "  Then  after  a  pause 
in  the  din  no  longer  than  half  the  human  breath  the 
name  of  Aissa  rang  in  a  shout  loud,  discordant,  and 
piercing,  which  sent  through  them  an  involuntary 
shudder.  Old  Omar  collapsed  on  his  carpet  and 
moaned  feebly;  Lakamba  stared  with  gloomy  con- 
tempt in  the  direction  of  the  inhuman  sound;  but 
Babalatchi,  forcing  a  smile,  pushed  his  distinguished 
protector  through  the  narrow  gate  in  the  stockade, 
followed  him,  and  closed  it  quickly. 

The  old  woman,  who  had  been  most  of  the  time 
kneeling  by  the  fire,  now  rose,  glanced  round  fear- 
fully and  crouched  hiding  behind  the  tree.  The  gate 
of  the  great  courtyard  flew  open  with  a  great  clatter 
before  a  frantic  kick,  and  Willems  darted  in  carrying 
Ai'ssa  in  his  arms.  He  rushed  up  the  enclosure  like 
a  tornado,  pressing  the  girl  to  his  breast,  her  arms 


96  AN   OUTCAST   OF   THE   ISLANDS. 

round  his  neck,  her  head  hanging  back  over  his  arm, 
lier  eyes  closed  and  her  long  hair  nearly  touching  the 
ground.  They  appeared  for  a  second  in  the  glare  of 
the  fire,  then,  with  immense  strides,  he  dashed  up  the 
planks  and  disappeared  with  his  burden  in  the  door- 
way of  the  big  house. 

Inside  and  outside  the  enclosure  there  was  silence. 
Omar  lay  supporting  himself  on  his  elbow,  his  terri- 
fied face  with  its  closed  eyes  giving  him  the  appear- 
ance of  a  man  tormented  by  a  nightmare. 

"  What  is  it?  Help!  Help  me  to  rise!  "  he  called 
out  faintly. 

The  old  hag,  still  crouching  in  the  shadow,  stared 
with  bleared  eyes  at  the  doorway  of  the  big  house, 
and  took  no  notice  of  his  call.  He  listened  for  a  while, 
then  his  arm  gave  way,  and,  with  a  deep  sigh  of  dis- 
[Tfagement,  he  let  himself  fall  on  the  carpet. 

The  boughs  of  the  tree  nodded  and  trembled  in 
the  unsteady  currents  of  the  light  wind.  A  leaf  flut- 
tered down  slowly  from  some  high  branch  and  rested 
on  the  ground,  immobile,  as  if  resting  for  ever,  in  the 
glow  of  the  fire;  but  soon  it  stirred,  then  soared  sud- 
denly, and  flew,  spinning  and  turning  before  the 
breath  of  the  perfumed  breeze,  driven  helplessly  into 
the  dark  night  that  had  closed  over  the  land. 


ni. 

/  A 
^^   '  For  upwards  of  forty  years  Abdulla  had  walked 

in  the  way  of  his  Lord.  Son  of  the  rich  Syed  Selim 
bin  Sali,  the  great  Mohammedan  trader  of  the  Straits, 
he  went  forth  at  the  age  of  seventeen  on  his  first  com- 
mercial expedition,  as  his  father's  representative  on 
board  a  pilgrim  ship  chartered  by  the  wealthy  Arab 


AN   OUTCAST   OF   THE   ISLANDS. 


97 


to  convey  a  crowd  of  pious  Malays  to  the  Holy 
Shrine.  That  was  in  the  days  when  steam  was  not 
in  those  seas — or,  at  least,  not  so  much  as  now.  1  he 
voyage  was  long,  and  the  young  man's  eyes  were 
opened  to  the  wonders  of  many  lands.  Allah  had 
made  it  his  fate  to  become  a  pilgrim  very  early  in  life. 
This  was  a  great  favour  of  Heaven,  and  it  could  not 
have  been  bestowed  upon  a  man  who  prized  it  more, 
or  who  made  himself  more  worthy  of  it  by  the  un- 
swerving piety  of  his  heart  and  by  the  religious  so- 
lemnity of  his  demeanour.  Later  on  it  became  clear 
that  the  book  of  his  destiny  contained  the  programme 
of  a  wandering  life.  He  visited  Bombay  and  Cal- 
cutta, looked  in  at  the  Persian  Gulf,  beheld  in  due 
course  the  high  and  barren  coasts  of  the  Gulf  of  Suez, 
and  this  was  the  limit  of  his  wanderings  westward. 
He  was  then  twenty-seven,  and  the  writing  on  his 
forehead  decreed  that  the  time  had  come  for  him  to 
return  to  the  Straits  and  take  from  his  dying  father's 
hands  the  many  threads  of  a  business  that  was  spread 
over  all  the  Archipelago:  from  Sumatra  to  New- 
Guinea,  from  Batavia  to  Palawan.  Very  soon  his 
ability,  his  will — strong  to  obstinacy — his  wisdom  be- 
yond his  years,  caused  him  to  be  recognised  as  the 
head  of  a  family  whose  members  and  connections 
were  found  in  every  part  of  those  seas.  An  uncle  here 
— a  brother  there ;  a  father-in-law  in  Batavia,  an- 
other in  Palembang;  husbands  of  numerous  sisters; 
cousins  innumerable  scattered  north,  south,  east,  and 
west — in  every  place  wdiere  there  was  trade :  the  great 
family  lay  like  a  network  over  the  islands.  They  lent 
money  to  princes,  influenced  the  council-rooms,  faced 
— if  need  be — with  peaceful  intrepidity  the  white 
rulers  who  held  the  land  and  the  sea  under  the  edge 
of  sharp  swords;  and  they  all  paid  a  great  deference 
to  Abdulla,  listened  to  his  advice,  entered  into  his 
plans — because  he  was  wise,  pious,  and  fortunate. 


^8  AN   OUTCAST   OF   THE    ISLANDS. 

He  bore  himself  with  the  humility  becoming  a 
Believer,  who  never  forgets,  even  for  one  moment 
of  his  waking  life,  that  he  is  the  servant  of  the  Most 
High.  He  was  largely  charitable  because  the  chari- 
table man  is  the  friend  of  Allah,  and  when  he  walked 
out  of  his  house — built  of  stone,  just  outside  the  town 
of  Penang — on  his  way  to  his  godowns  in  the  port, 
he  had  often  to  snatch  his  hand  away  sharply  from 
under  the  lips  of  men  of  his  race  and  creed;  and  often 
he  had  to  murmur  deprecating  words,  or  even  to  re- 
buke with  severity  those  who  attempted  to  touch  his 
knees  with  their  finger-tips  in  gratitude  or  supplica- 
tion. He  was  very  handsome,  and  carried  his  small 
head  high  with  meek  gravity.  His  lofty  brow,  straight 
nose,  narrow,  dark  face  with  its  chiselled  delicacy  of 
feature,  gave  him  an  aristocratic  appearance  which 
proclaimed  his  pure  descent.  His  beard  was  trimmed 
close  and  to  a  rounded  point.  His  large  brown  eyes 
looked  out  steadily  with  a  sweetness  that  was  belied 
by  the  expression  of  his  thin-Hpped  mouth.  His  as- 
pect was  serene.  He  had  a  belief  in  his  own  pros- 
perity which  nothing  could  shake. 

Restless,  like  all  his  people,  he  very  seldom  dwelt 
for  many  days  together  in  his  splendid  house  in  Pe- 
nang. Owner  of  ships,  he  was  often  on  board  one 
or  another  of  them,  traversing  in  all  directions  the 
field  of  his  operations.  In  every  port  he  had  a  house- 
hold— his  own  or  that  of  a  relation — to  hail  his  advent 
with  demonstrative  joy.  In  every  port  there  were 
rich  and  influential  men  eager  to  see  him,  there  was 
business  to  talk  over,  there  were  important  letters  to 
read:  an  immense  correspondence,  enclosed  in  silk 
envelopes — a  correspondence  which  had  nothing  to 
do  with  the  infidels  of  colonial  post-of^fices,  but  came 
into  his  hands  by  devious,  yet  safe,  ways.  It  was 
left  for  him  by  taciturn  nakhodas  of  native  trading 
craft,   or   was   delivered   with   profound    salaams   by 


AN   OUTCAST   OF   THE    ISLANDS.  99 

travel-Stained  and  weary  men  who  would  withdraw 
from  his  presence  calling  upon  Allah  to  bless  the  gen- 
erous giver  of  splendid  rewards.  And  the  nevv^s  were 
always  good,  and  all  his  attempts  always  succeeded, 
and  in  his  ears  there  rang  always  a  chorus  of  admira- 
tion, of  gratitude,  of  humble  entreaties. 

A  fortunate  man.  And  his  felicity  was  so  com- 
plete that  the  good  genii,  wdio  ordered  the  stars  at 
liis  birth,  had  not  neglected — by  a  refinement  of  be- 
nevolence strange  in  such  primitive  beings — to  pro- 
vide him  with  a  desire  difficult  to  attain,  and  with  an 
enemy  hard  to  overcome.  The  envy  of  Lingard's 
political  and  commercial  successes,  and  the  wish  to 
get  the  best  of  him  in  every  way,  became  Abdulla's 
mania,  the  paramount  interest  of  his  life,  the  salt  of 
his  existence. 

For  the  last  few  months  he  had  been  receiving 
mysterious  messages  from  Sambir  urging  him  to  de- 
cisive action.  He  had  found  the  river  a  couple  of 
years  ago,  and  had  been  anchored  more  than  once  off 
that  estuary  where  the,  till  then,  rapid  Pantai,  spread- 
ing slowly  over  the  lowlands,  seems  to  hesitate,  before 
it  flows  gently  through  twenty  outlets;  over  a  maze 
of  mudflats,  sandbanks  and  reefs,  into  the  expectant 
sea.  He  had  never  attempted  the  entrance,  however, 
because  men  of  his  race,  although  brave  and  adven- 
turous travellers,  lack  the  true  seamanlike  instincts, 
and  he  was  afraid  of  getting  wrecked.  He  could  not 
bear  the  idea  of  the  Rajah  Laut  being  able  to  boast 
that  Abdulla  bin  Selim,  like  other  and  lesser  men, 
had  also  come  to  grief  when  trying  to  wrest  his  secret 
from  him.  Meantim.e  he  returned  encouraging  an- 
swers to  his  unknown  friends  in  Sambir,  and  waited 
for  his  opportunity  in  the  calm  certitude  of  ultimate 
triumph. 

Such  was  the  man  whom  Lakamba  and  Babalatchi 
'i'-ipected  to  see  for  the  first  time  on  the  ni^jht  of  Wil- 


lOO  AN   OUTCAST   OF   THE   ISLANDS. 

lems'  return  to  Aissa.  Babalatchi,  who  had  been  tor- 
mented for  three  days  by  the  fear  of  having  over- 
reached himself  in  his  httle  plot,  now,  feeling  sure 
of  his  white  man,  felt  lighthearted  and  happy  as  he 
superintended  the  preparations  in  the  courtyard  for 
Abdulla's  reception.  Half-way  between  Lakamba's 
house  and  the  river  a  pile  of  dry  wood  was  made  ready 
for  the  torch  that  would  set  fire  to  it  at  the  moment 
of  Abdulla's  landing.  Between  this  and  the  house 
again  there  was,  ranged  in  a  semicircle,  a  set  of  low 
bamboo  frames,  and  on  those  were  piled  all  the  car- 
pets and  cushions  of  Lakamba's  household.  It  had 
been  decided  that  the  reception  was  to  take  place  in 
the  open  air,  and  that  it  should  be  made  impressive 
by  the  great  number  of  Lakamba's  retainers,  who, 
clad  in  clean  white,  with  their  red  sarongs  gathered 
round  their  waists,  chopper  at  side  and  lance  in  hand, 
were  moving  about  the  compound  or,  gathering  into 
small  knots,  discussed  eagerly  the  coming  ceremony. 

Two  little  fires  burned  brightly  on  the  water's  edge 
on  each  side  of  the  landing  place.  A  small  heap  of 
damar-gum  torches  lay  by  each,  and  between  them 
Babalatchi  strolled  backwards  and  forwards,  stopping 
often  with  his  face  to  the  river  and  his  head  on  one 
side,  listening  to  the  sounds  that  came  from  the  dark- 
ness over  the  water.  There  was  no  moon  and  the 
night  was  very  clear  overhead,  but,  after  the  afternoon 
breeze  had  expired  in  fitful  puffs,  the  vapours  hung 
thickening  over  the  glancing  surface  of  the  Pantai 
and  clung  to  the  shore,  hiding  from  view  the  middle 
of  the  stream. 

A  cry  in  the  mist — then  another — and,  before  Ba- 
balatchi could  answer,  two  little  canoes  dashed  up  to 
the  landing-place,  and  two  of  the  principal  citizens  of 
Sambir,  Daoud  Sahamin  and  Hamet  Bahassoen,  who 
had  been  confidentially  invited  to  meet  Abdulla, 
landed  quickly  and  after  greeting  Babalatchi  walked 


AN    OUTCAST   OF   THE   ISLANDS.  loi 

Up  the  dark  courtyard  towards  the  house.  The  Httle 
stir  caused  by  their  arrival  soon  subsided,  and  another 
silent  hour  dragged  its  slow  length  while  Babalatchi 
tramped  up  and  down  between  the  fires,  his  face  grow- 
ing more  anxious  with  every  passing  moment. 

At  last  there  was  heard  a  loud  hail  from  down  the 
river.  At  a  call  from  Babalatchi  men  ran  down  to 
the  riverside  and,  snatching  the  torches,  thrust  them 
into  the  fires,  then  waved  them  above  their  heads  till 
they  burst  into  a  flame.  The  smoke  ascended  in 
thick,  wispy  streams,  and  hung  in  a  ruddy  cloud 
above  the  glare  that  lit  up  the  courtyard  and  flashed 
over  the  water,  showing  three  long  canoes  manned 
by  many  paddlers  lying  a  little  off;  the  men  in  them 
lifting  their  paddles  on  high  and  dipping  them  down 
together,  in  an  easy  stroke  that  kept  the  small  flotilla 
motionless  in  the  strong  current,  exactly  abreast  of 
the  landing-place.  A  man  stood  up  in  the  largest 
craft  and  called  out — 

'' Syed  AbduUa  bin  Selim  is  here!" 
Babalatchi  answered  aloud  in  a  formal  tone — 
"  Allah  gladdens  our  hearts!     Come  to  the  land!  " 
Abdulla  landed  first,  steadying  himself  by  the  help 
of  Babalatchi's  extended  hand.     In  the  short  moment 
of  his  passing  from  the  boat  to  the  shore  they  ex- 
changed sharp  glances  and  a  few  rapid  words. 
"Who  are  you?" 

"  Babalatchi.    The  friend  of  Omar.    The  protected 
of  Lakamba." 
"You  wrote?" 

"  My  words  were  written,  O  Giver  of  alms !  " 
And  then  Abdulla  walked  with  composed  face  be- 
tween the  two  lines  of  men  holding  torches,  and  met 
Takamba  in  front  of  the  big  fire  that  was  crackling 
itself  up  into  a  great  blaze.  For  a  moment  they  stood 
with  clasped  hands  invoking  peace  upon  each  other's 
head,  then  Lakamba,  still  holding  his  honoured  guest 


TO?  AN    OUTCAST   OF   THE   ISLANDS. 

by  the  hand,  led  him  round  the  fire  to  the  prepared 
seats.  Babalatchi  followed  close  behind  his  protector. 
Abdulla  was  accompanied  by  two  Arabs.  He,  like 
his  companions,  was  dressed  in  a  white  robe  of 
starched  muslin,  which  fell  in  stiff  folds  straight  from 
the  neck.  It  was  buttoned  from  the  throat  halfway 
down  with  a  close  row  of  very  small  gold  buttons; 
round  the  tight  sleeves  there  was  a  narrow  braid  of 
gold  lace.  On  his  shaven  head  he  w^ore  a  small  skull- 
cap of  plaited  grass.  He  was  shod  in  patent  leather 
slippers  over  his  naked  feet.  A  rosary  of  heavy 
wooden  beads  hung  by  a  round  turn  from  his  right 
wrist.  He  sat  dovvn  slowly  in  the  place  of  honour, 
and,  dropping  his  slippers,  tucked  up  his  legs  under 
him  decorously. 

The  improvised  divan  was  arranged  in  a  wide 
semicircle,  of  which  the  point  most  distant  from  tlie 
fire — some  ten  yards — was  also  the  nearest  to  La- 
kamba's  dwelling.  As  soon  as  the  principal  person- 
ages were  seated,  the  verandah  of  the  house  was  filled 
silently  by  the  muf^ed-up  forms  of  Lakamba's  female 
belongings.  They  crowded  close  to  the  rail  and 
looked  down,  wdiispering  faintly.  Below,  the  formal 
exchange  of  compliments  went  on  for  some  time  be- 
tween Lakamba  and  Abdulla,  who  sat  side  by  side. 
Babalatchi  squatted  humbly  at  his  protector's  feet, 
with  nothing  but  a  thin  mat  between  himself  and  the 
hard  ground. 

Then  there  was  a  pause.  Abdulla  glanced  round 
in  an  expectant  manner,  and  after  a  while  Babalatchi, 
who  had  been  sitting  very  still  in  a  pensive  attitude, 
seemed  to  rouse  himself  with  an  efifort,  and  began  to 
speak  in  gentle  and  persuasive  tones.  He  described 
in  flowing  sentences  the  first  beginnings  of  Sambir, 
the  dispute  of  the  present  ruler,  Patalolo,  with  the 
Sultan  of  Koti,  the  consequent  troubles  ending  with 
the  rising  of  Bugis  settlers  under  the  leadership  of 


AN   OUTCAST    OF   THE    ISLANDS.  103 

Lakamba.  At  different  points  of  the  narrative  he 
would  turn  for  confirmation  toSahamin  and  Bahas- 
soen,  who  sat  listening  eagerly  and  assented  together 
with  a  Betul!  Betul!  Right!  Right!  ejaculated  in 
a  fervent  undertone. 

Warming  up  with  his  subject  as  the  narrative 
proceeded,  Babalatchi  went  on  to  relate  the  facts  con- 
nected with  Lingard's  action  at  the  critical  period  of 
those  internal  dissensions.  He  spoke  in  a  restrained 
voice  still,  but  with  a  grov/ing  energy  of  indignation. 
What  was  he,  that  man  of  fierce  aspect,  to  keep  all 
the  world  away  from  them?  Was  he  a  government? 
Who  made  him  ruler?  He  took  possession  of  Pata- 
lolo's  mind  and  made  his  heart  hard;  he  put  severe 
words  into  his  mouth  and  caused  his  hand  to  strike 
right  and  left.  That  unbeliever  kept  the  Faithful 
panting  under  the  weight  of  his  senseless  oppression. 
They  had  to  trade  with  him — accept  such  goods  as 
he  would  give — such  credit  as  he  would  accord.  And 
he  exacted  payment  every  yea.r  .  .  . 

"  Very  true!  "  exclaimed  Sahamin  and  Bahassoen 
together. 

Babalatchi  glanced  at  them  approvingly  and 
turned  to  Abdulla. 

"  Listen  to  those  men,  O  Protector  of  the  op- 
pressed! "  he  exclaimed.  "What  could  we  do?  A 
man  must  trade.     There  was  nobody  else." 

Sahamin  got  up,  stafif  in  hand,  and  spoke  to  Ab- 
dulla with  ponderous  courtesy,  emphasising  his  words 
by  the  solemn  flourishes  of  his  right  arm. 

''  It  is  so.  We  are  weary  of  paying  our  debts  to 
that  white  man  here,  who  is  the  son  of  the  Rajah 
Laut.  That  white  man — may  the  grave  of  his  mother 
be  defiled! — is  not  content  to  hold  us  all  in  his  hand 
with  a  cruel  grasp.  He  seeks  to  cause  our  very  death. 
He  trades  with  the  Dyaks  of  the  forest,  wlio  are  no 
better  than  monkeys.     He  buys   from  them  guttah 


104 


AN   OUTCAST   OF   THE   ISLANDS. 


and  rattans — while  we  starve.  Only  two  days  ago  I 
went  to  him  and  said,  '  Tuan  Almayer ' — even  so; 
we  must  speak  politely  to  that  friend  of  Satan — '  Tuan 
Almayer,  I  have  such  and  such  goods  to  sell.  Will 
you  buy?'  And  he  spoke  thus — because  those  white 
men  have  no  understanding  of  any  courtesy — he 
spoke  to  me  as  if  I  was  a  slave :  '  Daoud,  yoit  are  a 
lucky  man  ' — remark,  O  First  amongst  the  Believers! 
that  by  those  words  he  could  have  brought  misfor- 
tune on  my  head — '  you  are  a  lucky  man  to  have 
anything  in  these  hard  times.  Bring  your  goods 
quickly,  and  I  shall  receive  them  in  payment  of  what 
you  owe  me  from  last  year.'  And  he  laughed,  and 
struck  me  on  the  shoulder  with  his  open  hand.  May 
Jehannum  be  his  lot!" 

"  We  will  fight  him,"  said  young  Bahassoen,  crisp- 
ly. "  We  shall  fight  if  there  is  help  and  a  leader. 
Tuan  Abdulla,  will  you  come  among  us?" 

Abdulla  did  not  answer  at  once.  His  Hps  moved 
in  an  inaudible  whisper  and  the  beads  passed  through 
his  fingers  with  a  dry  click.  All  waited  in  respectful 
silence.  '*  I  shall  come  if  my  ship  can  enter  this 
river,"  said  Abdulla  at  last,  in  a  solemn  tone. 

'*  It  can,  Tuan,"  exclaimed  Babalatchi.  "  There 
is  a  white  man  here  who  .  .  ." 

"  I  want  to  see  Omar  el  Badavi  and  that  white 
man  you  wrote  about,"  interrupted  Abdulla. 

Babalatchi  got  on  his  feet  quickly,  and  there  was 
a  general  move.  The  women  on  the  verandah  hur- 
ried indoors,  and  from  the  crowd  that  had  kept  dis- 
creetly in  distant  parts  of  the  courtyard  a  couple  of 
men  ran  with  armfuls  of  dry  fuel,  which  they  cast 
upon  the  fire.  One  of  them,  at  a  sign  from  Baba- 
latchi, approached  and,  after  getting  his  orders,  went 
towards  the  little  gate  and  entered  Omar's  enclosure. 
While  waiting  for  his  return,  Lakamba,  Abdulla,  and 
Babalatchi  talked  together  in  low  tones.    Sahamin  sat 


AN   OUTCAST   OF   THE   ISLANDS.  105 

by  himself  chewing  betel-nut  sleepily  with  a  slight 
and  indolent  motion  of  his  heavy  jaw.  Bahassoen, 
his  hand  on  the  hilt  of  his  short  sword,  strutted  back- 
wards and  forwards  in  the  full  light  of  the  fire,  looking 
very  warhke  and  reckless;  the  envy  and  admiration  of 
Laicamba's  retainers,  who  stood  in  groups  or  flitted 
about  noiselessly  in  the  shadows  of  the  courtyard. 

The  messenger  who  had  been  sent  to  Omar  came 
back  and  stood  at  a  distance,  waiting  till  somebody 
noticed  him.     Babalatchi  beckoned  him  close. 

''What  are  his  words?"  asked  Babalatchi. 

"  He  says  that  Syed  Abdulla  is  welcome  now," 
answered  the  man. 

Lakamba  was  speaking  low  to  Abdulla,  who  lis- 
tened to  him  with  deep  interest. 

".  .  .  We  could  have  eighty  men  if  there  was 
need,"  he  was  saying — "  eighty  men  in  fourteen  ca- 
noes.    The  only  thing  we  want  is  gunpowder  .  .  ." 

"  Hai!  there  will  be  no  fighting,"  broke  in  Baba- 
latchi. ''  The  fear  of  your  name  will  be  enough  and 
the  terror  of  your  coming." 

"There  may  be  powder  too,"  muttered  Abdulla 
with  great  nonchalance,  "  if  only  the  ship  enters  the 
river  safely." 

''  If  the  heart  is  stout  the  ship  will  be  safe,"  said 
Babalatchi.  "  We  will  go  now  and  see  Omar  el  Ba- 
davi  and  the  white  man  I  have  here." 

Lakamba's  dull  eyes  became  animated  suddenly. 

"  Take  care,  Tuan  Abdulla,"  he  said,  "  take  care. 
The  behaviour  of  that  unclean  white  madman  is  furi- 
ous in  the  extreme.     He  offered  to  strike  .  .  ." 

"On  my  head,  you  are  safe,  O  Giver  of  alms!" 
interrupted  Babalatchi. 

Abdulla  looked  from  one  to  the  other,  and  the 
faintest  flicker  of  a  passing  smile  disturbed  for  a  mo- 
ment his  grave  composure.  He  turned  to  Babalatchi, 
and  said  with  decision — 


I06  AN   OUTCAST    OF   THE    ISLANDS. 

"  Let  us  go." 

"  This  way,  O  Uplifter  of  our  hearts !  "  rattled  on 
Babalatchi,  with  fussy  deference.  ''  Only  a  very  few 
paces  and  you  shall  behold  Omar  the  brave,  and  a 
white  man  of  great  strength  and  cunning.  This 
way." 

He  made  a  sign  for  Lakamba  to  remain  behind, 
and  with  respectful  touches  on  the  elbow  steered  Ab- 
dulla  towards  the  gate  at  the  upper  end  of  the  court- 
yard. As  they  walked  on  slowly,  followed  by  the 
two  Arabs,  he  kept  on  talking  in  a  rapid  undertone 
to  the  great  man,  who  never  looked  at  him  once,  al- 
though appearing  to  listen  with  flattering  attention. 
When  near  the  gate  Babalatchi  moved  forward  and 
stopped,  facing  AbduUa,  with  his  hand  on  the  fasten- 
ings. 

"  You  shall  see  them  both,"  he  said.  ''  All  my 
words  about  them  are  true.  When  I  saw  him  en- 
slaved by  the  one  of  whom  I  spoke,  I  knew  he  would 
be  soft  in  my  hand  like  the  mud  of  the  river.  At  first 
he  answered  my  talk  with  bad  words  of  his  own  lan- 
guage, after  the  manner  of  white  men.  Afterv/ards, 
when  listening  to  the  voice  he  loved,  he  hesitated.  He 
hesitated  for  many  days — too  many.  I,  knowing  him 
well,  made  Omar  withdraw  here  with  his  .  .  .  house- 
hold. Then  this  red-faced  man  raged  for  three  days 
like  a  black  panther  that  is  hungry.  And  this  even- 
ing, this  very  evening,  he  came.  I  have  him  here. 
He  is  in  the  grasp  of  one  with  a  merciless  heart.  I 
have  him  here,"  ended  Babalatchi,  exultingly  tapping 
the  upright  of  the  gate  with  his  hand. 
"  This  is  good,"  murmured  Abdulla. 
*'  And  he  shall  guide  your  ship  and  lead  in  the 
fight — if  fight  there  be,"  went  on  Babalatchi.  "  If 
there  is  any  killing — let  him  be  the  slayer.  You 
should  give  him  arms — a  short  gun  that  fires  many 
times." 


AN   OUTCAST   OF   THE   ISLANDS.  107 

*' Yes,  by  Allah!"  assented  Abdulla,  with  slow 
thoughtfulness. 

"  And  you  will  have  to  open  your  hand,  O  First 
amongst  the  generous!"  continued  Babalatchi. 
*'  You  will  have  to  satisfy  the  rapacity  of  a  white  man, 
and  also  of  one  who  is  not  a  man,  and  therefore 
greedy  of  ornaments." 

"They  shall  be  satisfied,"  said  Abdulla;  "but...'' 
He  hesitated,  looking  down  on  the  ground  and  strok- 
ing his  beard,  while  Babalatchi  waited,  anxious,  with 
parted  lips.  After  a  short  time  he  spoke  again  jerkily 
in  an  indistinct  whisper,  so  that  Babalatchi  had  to 
turn  his  head  to  catch  the  words.  "  Yes.  But  Omar 
is  the  son  of  my  father's  uncle  .  .  .  and  all  belonging 
to  him  are  of  the  Faith  .  .  .  while  that  man  is  an 
unbeliever.  It  is  most  unseemly  .  .  .  very  unseemly. 
He  cannot  live  under  my  shadow.  Not  that  dog. 
Penitence!  I  take  refuge  with  my  God,"  he  mum- 
bled rapidly.  "  How  can  he  live  under  my  eyes  with 
that  woman,  who  is  of  the  Faith?  Scandal!  O 
abomination! " 

He  finished  with  a  rush  and  drew  a  long  breath, 
then  added  dubiously — 

"  And  when  that  man  has  done  all  we  want,  what 
is  to  be  done  with  him?" 

They  stood  close  together,  meditative  and  silent, 
their  eyes  roaming  idly  over  the  courtyard.  The  big 
bonfire  burned  brightly,  and  a  wavering  splash  of 
light  lay  on  the  dark  earth  at  their  feet,  while  the 
lazy  smoke  wreathed  itself  slowly  in  gleaming  coils 
amongst  the  black  boughs  of  the  trees.  They  could 
see  Lakamba,  who  had  returned  to  his  place,  sitting 
hunched  up  spiritlessly  on  the  cushions,  and  Sahamin, 
who  had  got  on  his  feet  again  and  appeared  to  be 
talking  to  him  with  dignified  animation.  IMen  in  twos 
or  threes  came  out  of  the  shadows  into  the  light, 
strolling  slowly,  and  pas«ed  again  into  the  shadows. 


I08  AN   OUTCAST   OF   THE   ISLANDS. 

their  faces  turned  to  each  other,  their  arms  moving 
in  restrained  gestures.  Bahassoen,  his  head  proudly 
thrown  back,  his  ornaments,  embroideries,  and  sword- 
hilt  flashing  in  the  light,  circled  steadily  round  the 
fire  like  a  planet  round  the  sun.  A  cool  whiff  of 
damp  air  came  from  the  darkness  of  the  riverside; 
it  made  Abdulla  and  Babalatchi  shiver,  and  woke 
them  up  from  their  abstraction. 

"  Open  the  gate  and  go  first,"  said  Abdulla; 
*'  there  is  no  danger?  " 

''  On  my  life,  no!  "  answered  Babalatchi,  lifting 
the  rattan  ring.  "  He  is  all  peace  and  content,  like 
a  thirsty  man  who  has  drunk  water  after  many  days." 

He  swung  the  gate  wide,  made  a  few  paces  into 
the  gloom  of  the  enclosure,  and  retraced  his  steps 
suddenly. 

"  He  may  be  made  useful  in  many  ways,"  he 
whispered  to  Abdulla,  who  had  stopped  short,  seeing 
him  come  back. 

"O  Sin!  O  Temptation!"  sighed  out  Abdulla, 
faintly.  "  Our  refuge  is  with  the  Most  High.  Can 
I  feed  this  infidel  for  ever  and  for  ever?  "  he  added, 
impatiently. 

"No,"  br«athed  out  Babalatchi.  "No!  Not  for 
ever.  Only  while  he  serves  your  designs,  O  Dis- 
penser of  Allah's  gifts!  When  the  time  comes — and 
your  order  .  .  ." 

He  sidled  close  to  Abdulla,  and  brushed  with  a 
delicate  touch  the  hand  that  hung  down  listlessly, 
holding  the  prayer-beads. 

"  I  am  your  slave  and  your  offering,"  he  mur- 
mured, in  a  distinct  and  polite  tone,  into  Abdulla's 
ear.  "  When  your  wisdom  speaks,  there  may  be 
found  a  little  poison  that  will  not  lie.    Who  knows! " 


AN  OUTCAST  OF   THE   ISLANDS.  109 


IV. 

Babalatchi  saw  Abdulla  pass  through  the  low  and 
narrow  entrance  into  the  darkness  of  Omar's  hut; 
heard  them  exchange  the  usual  greetings  and  the  dis- 
tinguished visitor's  grave  voice  asking:  "There  is  no 
misfortune — please  God — but  the  sight?"  and  then, 
becoming  aware  of  the  disapproving  looks  of  the  two 
Arabs  who  had  accompanied  Abdulla,  he  followed 
their  example  and  fell  back  out  of  earshot.  He  did  it 
unwillingly,  although  he  did  not  ignore  that  what  was 
going  to  happen  in  there  was  now  absolutely  beyond 
his  control.  He  roamed  irresolutely  about  for  awhile, 
and  at  last  wandered  with  careless  steps  towards  the 
fire,  which  had  been  moved,  from  under  the  tree,  close 
to  the  hut  and  a  little  to  windward  of  its  entrance.  He 
squatted  on  his  heels  and  began  playing  pensively 
with  live  embers,  as  was  his  habit  when  engrossed  in 
thought,  withdrawing  his  hand  sharply  and  shaking 
it  above  his  head  when  he  burnt  his  fingers  in  a  fit  of 
deeper  abstraction.  Sitting  there  he  could  hear  the 
murmur  of  the  talk  inside  the  hut,  and  he  ':,ould  dis- 
tinguish the  voices  but  not  the  words.  Abdulla  spoke 
in  deep  tones,  and  now  and  then  this  flowing  mono- 
tone was  interrupted  by  a  querulous  exclamation,  a 
weak  moan  or  a  plaintive  quaver  of  the  old  man.  Yes. 
It  was  annoying  not  to  be  able  to  make  out  what  they 
were  saying,  thought  Babalatchi,  as  he  sat  gazing  fix- 
edly at  the  unsteady  glow  of  the  fire.  But  it  will  be 
right.  All  will  be  right.  Abdulla  inspired  him  with 
confidence.  He  came  up  fully  to  his  expectation. 
From  the  very  first  moment  when  he  set  his  eye  on 
him  he  felt  sure  that  this  man — whom  he  had  known 
by  reputation  only — was  very  resolute.  Perhaps  too 
resolute.  Perhaps  he  would  want  to  grasp  too  much 
later  on.    A  shadow  flitted  over  Babalatchi's  face.    On 


no  AN   OUTCAST   OF   THE   ISLANDS. 

the  eve  of  the  accompHshment  of  his  desires  he  felt  the 
bitter  taste  of  that  drop  of  doubt  which  is  mixed  with 
the  sweetness  of  every  success. 

When,  hearing  footsteps  on  the  verandah  of  the  big 
house,  he  Hfted  his  head,  the  shadow  had  passed  away 
and  on  his  face  there  was  an  expression  of  watchful 
alertness.  Willems  was  coming  down  the  plankway, 
into  the  courtyard.  The  light  within  trickled  through 
the  cracks  of  the  badly  joined  walls  of  the  house,  and 
in  the  illuminated  doorway  appeared  the  moving  form 
of  Aissa.  She  also  passed  into  the  night  outside  and 
disappeared  from  view.  Babalatchi  wondered  where 
she  had  got  to,  and  for  the  moment  forgot  the  approach 
of  Willems.  The  voice  of  the  white  man  speaking 
roughly  above  his  head  made  him  jump  to  his  feet  as 
if  impelled  upwards  by  a  powerful  spring. 

"Where's  Abdulla?" 

Babalatchi  waved  his  hand  towards  the  hut  and 
stood  listening  intently.  The  voices  within  had  ceased, 
then  recommenced  again.  He  shot  an  oblique  glance 
at  Willems,  whose  indistinct  form  towered  above  the 
glow  of  dying  embers. 

'*  Make  up  this  fire,"  said  Willems,  abruptly.  "  I 
want  to  see  your  face." 

With  obliging  alacrity  Babalatchi  put  some  dry 
brushwood  on  the  coals  from  a  handy  pile,  keeping 
all  the  time  a  watchful  eye  on  Willems.  When  he 
straightened  himself  up  his  hand  wandered  almost  in- 
voluntarily towards  his  left  side  to  feel  the  handle  of 
a  kriss  amongst  the  folds  of  his  sarong,  but  he  tried  to 
look  unconcerned  under  the  angry  stare. 

*'  You  are  in  good  health,  please  God?  "  he  mur- 
mured. 

"Yes!"  answered  Willems,  with  an  unexpected 
loudness  that  caused  Babalatchi  to  start  nervously. 
"Yes!  .  .  .  Health!  .  .  .  You  .  .  ." 

He  made  a  long  stride  and  dropped  both  his  hands 


AN  OUTCAST  OF  THE   ISLANDS.  ijl 

on  the  Malay's  shoulders.  In  the  powerful  grip  Baba- 
latchi  swayed  to  and  fro  limply,  but  his  face  was  as 
peaceful  as  when  he  sat— a  little  while  ago— dreaming 
by  the  fire.  With  a  final  vicious  jerk  Willems  let  go 
suddenly,  and  turning  away  on  his  heel  stretched  his 
hands  over  the  fire.  Babalatchi  stumbled  backwards, 
recovered  himself,  and  wriggled  his  shoulders  labori- 
ously. 

''Tse!  Tse!  Tse!"  he  clicked,  deprecatingly. 
After  a  short  silence  he  went  on  with  accentuated  ad- 
miration: *'  What  a  man  it  is!  What  a  strong  man! 
A  man  Hke  that " — he  concluded,  in  a  tone  of  medi- 
tative wonder—*'  a  man  like  that  could  upset  moun- 
tains— mountains!  " 

He  gazed  hopefully  for  a  while  at  Willems'  broad 
shoulders,  and  continued,  addressing  the  inimical  back, 
in  a  low  and  persuasive  voice — 

'*  But  why  be  angry  with  me?  With  me  who  think 
only  of  your  good?  Did  I  not  give  her  refuge,  in  my 
own  house?  Yes,  Tuan!  This  is  my  own  house.  I 
will  let  you  have  it  without  any  recompense  because 
she  must  have  a  shelter.  Therefore  you  and  she  shall 
live  here.  Who  can  know  a  woman's  mind?  And 
such  a  woman!  If  she  wanted  to  go  away  from  that 
other  place,  who  am  I — to  say  no!  I  am  Omar's  ser- 
vant. I  said :  '  Gladden  my  heart  by  taking  my  house.' 
Did  I  say  right?" 

''  I'll  tell  you  something,"  said  Willems,  without 
changing  his  position;  "if  she  takes  a  fancy  to  go 
away  from  this  place  it  is  you  who  shall  sufifer.  I  will 
wring  your  neck." 

''  When  the  heart  is  full  of  love  there  is  no  room  in 
it  for  justice,"  recommenced  Babalatchi,  with  unmoved 
and  persistent  softness.  "  Why  slay  me?  You  know, 
Tuan,  what  she  wants.  A  splendid  destiny  is  her  de- 
sire— as  of  all  women.  You  have  been  wronged  and 
cast  out  by  your  people.     She  knows  that.    But  you 


115  AN  OUTCAST  OF  THE   ISLANDS. 

are  brave,  you  are  strong — you  are  a  man ;  and,  Tuan 
— I  am  older  than  you — you  are  in  her  hand.  Such 
is  the  fate  of  strong  men.  And  she  is  of  noble  birth 
and  cannot  live  like  a  slave.  You  know  her — and  you 
are  in  her  hand.  You  are  like  a  snared  bird,  because 
of  your  strength.  And — remember  I  am  a  man  that 
has  seen  much — submit,  Tuan!  Submit!  .  .  .  Or 
else  .  .  ." 

He  drawled  out  the  last  words  in  a  hesitating  man- 
ner and  broke  off  his  sentence.  Still  stretching  his 
hands  in  turn  towards  the  blaze  and  without  moving 
his  head,  Willems  gave  a  short,  lugubrious  laugh,  and 
asked — 

"  Or  else — what?" 

"  She  may  go  away  again.  Who  knows?  "  finished 
Babalatchi,  in  a  gentle  and  insinuating  tone. 

This  time  Willems  spun  round  sharply.  Babalatchi 
stepped  back. 

''  If  she  does  it  will  be  the  worse  for  you,"  said  Wil- 
lems, in  a  menacing  voice.  *'  It  will  be  your  doing, 
and  I  .  .  ." 

Babalatchi  spoke,  from  beyond  the  circle  of  light, 
with  calm  disdain. 

"  Hai — ya!  I  have  heard  before.  If  she  goes — 
then  I  die.  Good!  Will  that  bring  her  back  do  you 
think — Tuan?  If  it  is  my  doing  it  shall  be  well  done, 
O  white  man !  and — who  knows — you  will  have  to  live 
without  her." 

Willems  gasped  and  started  back  like  a  confident 
wayfarer  who,  pursuing  a  path  he  thinks  safe,  should 
see  just  in  time  a  bottomless  chasm  under  his  feet. 
Babalatchi  came  into  the  light  and  approached  Wil- 
lems sideways,  with  his  head  thrown  back  and  a  little 
on  one  side  so  as  to  bring  his  only  eye  to  bear  full  on 
the  countenance  of  the  tall  white  man. 

"  You  threaten  me,"  said  Willems,  indistinctlv. 

"I,  Tuan!"  exclaimed  Babalatchi,  with  a  slight 


AN  OUTCAST   OF  THE   ISLANDS.  113 

suspicion  of  irony  in  the  affected  surprise  of  his  tone. 
"I,  Tuan?  Who  spoke  of  death?  Was  it  I?  No! 
I  spoke  of  Hfe  only.  Only  of  life.  Of  a  long  life  for 
a  lonely  man!  " 

They  stood  with  the  fire  between  them,  both  silent, 
both  aware,  each  in  his  own  way,  of  the  importance 
of  the  passing  minutes.  Babalatchi's  fatalism  gave 
him  only  an  insignificant  relief  in  his  suspense,  be- 
cause no  fatalism  can  kill  the  thought  of  the  future, 
the  desire  of  success,  the  pain  of  waiting  for  the  dis- 
closure of  the  immutable  decrees  of  Heaven.  Fatalism 
is  born  of  the  fear  of  failure,  for  we  all  believe  that  we 
carry  success  in  our  own  hands,  and  we  suspect  that 
our  hands  are  weak.  Babalatchi  looked  at  Willems 
and  congratulated  himself  upon  his  ability  to  manage 
that  white  man.  There  was  a  pilot  for  Abdulla — a  vic- 
tim to  appease  Lingard's  anger  in  case  of  any  mishap. 
He  would  take  good  care  to  put  him  forward  in  every- 
thing. In  any  case  let  the  white  men  fight  it  out 
amongst  themselves.  They  were  fools.  He  hated 
them — the  strong  fools — and  knew  that  for  his  right- 
eous wisdom  was  reserved  the  safe  triumph. 

Willems  measured  dismally  the  depth  of  his  degra- 
dation. He — a  white  man,  the  admired  of  white  men, 
was  held  by  those  miserable  savages  whose  tool  he 
was  about  to  become.  He  felt  for  them  all  the  hate 
of  his  race,  of  his  morality,  of  his  intelligence.  He 
looked  upon  himself  with  dismay  and  pity.  She  had 
him.  He  had  heard  of  such  things.  He  had  heard 
of  women  who  .  .  .  He  would  never  believe  such 
stories.  .  .  .  Yet  they  were  true.  But  his  own  cap- 
tivity seemed  more  complete,  terrible  and  final — with- 
out the  hope  of  any  redemption.  He  wondered  at  the 
wickedness  of  Providence  that  had  made  him  what  he 
was;  that,  worse  still,  permitted  such  a  creature  as 
Almayer  to  live.  He  had  done  his  duty  by  going  to 
him.     Why  did  he  not  understand?     All  men  were 


114 


AN   OUTCAST  OF  THE   ISLANDS. 


fools.  He  gave  him  his  chance.  The  fellow  did  not 
see  it.  It  was  hard,  very  hard  on  himself — Willems. 
He  wanted  to  take  her  from  amongst  her  own  people. 
That's  why  he  had  condescended  to  go  to  Almayer. 
He  examined  himself.  With  a  sinking  heart  he 
thought  that  really  he  could  not — somehow — live 
without  her.  It  was  terrible  and  sweet.  He  remem- 
bered the  first  days.  Her  appearance,  her  face,  her 
smile,  her  eyes,  her  words.  A  savage  woman!  Yet 
he  perceived  that  he  could  think  of  nothing  else  but 
of  the  three  days  of  their  separation,  of  the  few  hours 
since  their  reunion.  Very  well.  If  he  could  not  take 
her  away,  then  he  would  go  to  her.  .  .  .  He  had,  for  a 
moment,  a  wicked  pleasure  in  the  thought  that  what 
he  had  done  could  not  be  undone.  He  had  given  him- 
self up.  He  felt  proud  of  it.  He  was  ready  to  face  any- 
thing, do  anything.  He  cared  for  nothing,  for  nobody. 
He  thought  himself  very  fearless,  but  as  a  matter  of 
fact  he  was  only  drunk;  drunk  with  the  poison  of  pas- 
sionate memories. 

He  stretched  his  hands  over  the  fire,  looked  round, 
and  called  out — 

"Aissa!" 

She  must  have  been  near,  for  she  appeared  at  once 
within  the  light  of  the  fire.  The  upper  part  of  her  body 
was  wrapped  up  in  the  thick  folds  of  a  head  covering 
which  was  pulled  down  over  her  brow,  and  one  end 
of  it  thrown  across  from  shoulder  to  shoulder  hid  the 
lower  part  of  her  face.  Only  her  eyes  were  visible — 
sombre  and  gleaming  like  a  starry  night. 

Willems,  looking  at  this  strange,  muffled  figure, 
felt  exasperated,  amazed  and  helpless.  The  ex-con- 
fidential clerk  of  the  rich  Hudig  would  hug  to  his 
breast  settled  conceptions  of  respectable  conduct.  He 
sought  refuge  within  his  ideas  of  propriety  from  the 
dismal  mangroves,  from  the  darkness  of  the  forests 
and  of  the  heathen  souls  of  the  savages  that  were  his 


AN  OUTCAST  OF  THE   ISLANDS.  115 

masters.  She  looked  like  an  animated  package  of 
cheap  cotton  goods!  It  made  him  furious.  She  had 
disguised  herself  so  because  a  man  of  her  race  was 
near!  He  told  her  not  to  do  it,  and  she  did  not  obey. 
Would  his  ideas  ever  change  so  as  to  agree  with  her 
own  notions  of  what  was  becoming,  proper  and  re- 
spectable? He  was  really  afraid  they  would,  in  time. 
It  seemed  to  him  awful.  She  would  never  change! 
This  manifestation  of  her  sense  of  proprieties  was  an- 
other sign  of  their  hopeless  diversity;  something  Hke 
another  step  downwards  for  him.  She  was  too  dif- 
ferent from  him.  He  was  so  civiHsed!  It  struck  him 
suddenly  that  they  had  nothing  in  common — not  a 
thought,  not  a  feeling;  he  could  not  make  clear  to 
her  the  simplest  motive  of  any  act  of  his  .  .  .  and  he 
could  not  live  without  her. 

The  courageous  man  who  stood  facing  Babalatchi 
gasped  unexpectedly  with  a  gasp  that  was  half  a  groan. 
This  little  matter  of  her  veiling  herself  against  his  wish 
acted  upon  him  like  a  disclosure  of  some  great  dis- 
aster. It  increased  his  contempt  for  himself  as  the 
slave  of  a  passion  he  had  always  derided,  as  the  man 
unable  to  assert  his  will.  This  will,  all  his  sensations, 
his  personality — all  this  seemed  to  be  lost  in  the 
abominable  desire,  in  the  priceless  promise  of  that 
woman.  He  was  not,  of  course,  able  to  discern  clearly 
the  causes  of  his  misery;  but  there  are  none  so  igno- 
rant as  not  to  know  sufifering,  none  so  simple  as  not 
to  feel  and  suffer  from  the  shock  of  warring  impulses. 
The  ignorant  must  feel  and  suffer  from  their  com- 
plexity as  well  as  the  wisest;  but  to  them  the  pain  of 
struggle  and  defeat  appears  strange,  mysterious,  reme- 
diable and  unjust.  He  stood  watching  her,  watching 
himself.  He  tingled  with  rage  from  head  to  foot,  as 
if  he  had  been  struck  in  the  face.  Suddenly  he  laughed; 
but  his  laugh  was  like  a  distorted  echo  of  some  insin- 
cere mirth  very  far  away. 


n6  AN   OUTCAST  OF   THE   ISLANDS. 

From  the  other  side  of  the  fire  Babalatchi  spoke 
hurriedly — 

"  Here  is  Tuan  Abdulla." 


V. 

Directly  on  stepping  outside  Omar's  hut  Abdulla 
caught  sight  of  Willems.  He  expected,  of  course,  to 
see  a  white  man,  but  not  that  white  man,  whom  he 
knew  so  well.  Everybody  who  traded  in  the  islands, 
and  who  had  any  dealings  with  Hudig,  knew  Wil- 
lems. For  the  last  two  years  of  his  stay  in  Macassar 
the  confidential  clerk  had  been  managing  all  the  local 
trade  of  the  house  under  a  very  slight  supervision  only 
on  the  part  of  the  master.  So  everybody  knew  Wil- 
lems, Abdulla  amongst  others — but  he  was  ignorant 
of  Willems'  disgrace.  As  a  matter  of  fact  the  thing 
had  been  kept  very  quiet — so  quiet  that  a  good  many 
people  in  Macassar  were  expecting  Willems'  return 
there,  supposing  him  to  be  absent  on  some  confidential 
mission.  Abdulla,  in  his  surprise,  hesitated  on  the 
threshold.  He  had  prepared  himself  to  see  some  sea- 
man— some  old  officer  of  Lingard;  a  common  man — 
perhaps  difficult  to  deal  with,  but  still  no  match  for 
him.  Instead,  he  saw  himself  confronted  by  an  indi- 
vidual whose  reputation  for  sagacity  in  business  was 
well  known  to  him.  How  did  he  get  here,  and  why? 
Abdulla,  recovering  from  his  surprise,  advanced  in  a 
dignified  manner  towards  the  fire,  keeping  his  eyes 
fixed  steadily  on  Willems.  When  within  two  paces 
from  Willems  he  stopped  and  lifted  his  right  hand  in 
grave  salutation.  Willems  nodded  slightly  and  spoke 
after  a  while. 

"  We  know  each  other,  Tuan  Abdulla,"  he  said 
with  an  assumption  of  easy  indifference. 


AN  OUTCAST  OF  THE   ISLANDS. 


117 


"  We  have  traded  together,"  answered  Abdulla, 
solemnly,  "  but  it  was  far  from  here." 

''  And  we  may  trade  here  also,"  said  Willems. 

"  The  place  does  not  matter.  It  is  the  open  mind 
and  the  true  heart  that  are  required  in  business." 

"  Very  true.  My  heart  is  as  open  as  my  mind.  I 
will  tell  you  why  I  am  here." 

"  What  need  is  there?  In  leaving  home  one  learns 
life.  You  travel.  Travelling  is  victory!  You  shall 
return  with  much  wisdom." 

"  I  shall  never  return,"  interrupted  Willems.  "  I 
have  done  with  my  people.  I  am  a  man  without 
brothers.    Injustice  destroys  fidelity." 

Abdulla  expressed  his  surprise  by  elevating  his  eye- 
brows. At  the  same  time  he  made  a  vague  gesture  with 
his  arm  that  could  be  taken  as  an  equivalent  of  an  ap- 
proving and  conciliating  *' just  so!  " 

Till  then  the  Arab  had  not  taken  any  notice  of 
Aissa,  who  stood  by  the  fire,  but  now  she  spoke  in  the 
interval  of  silence  following  Willems'  declaration.  In 
a  voice  that  was  much  deadened  by  her  wrappings  she 
addressed  Abdulla  in  a  few  words  of  greeting,  calling 
him  a  kinsman.  Abdulla  glanced  at  her  swiftly  for  a 
second,  and  then,  with  perfect  good  breeding,  fixed 
his  eyes  on  the  ground.  She  put  out  towards  him  her 
hand,  covered  with  a  corner  of  her  face-veil,  and  he 
took  it,  pressed  it  twice,  and  dropping  it  turned  to- 
wards Willems.  She  looked  at  the  two  men  search- 
ingly,  then  backed  away  and  seemed  to  melt  suddenly 
into  the  night. 

"  I  know  what  you  came  for,  Tuan  Abdulla,"  said 
Willems;  "  I  have  been  told  by  that  man  there."  He 
nodded  towards  Babalatchi,  then  went  on  slowly,  *'  It 
will  be  a  dif^cult  thing." 

*'  Allah  makes  everything  easy,"  interjected  Baba- 
latchi, piously,  from  a  distance. 

The  two  men  turned  quickly  and  stood  looking  at 


Il8  AN   OUTCAST  OF   THE   ISLANDS. 

him  thoughtfully,  as  if  in  deep  consideration  of  the 
truth  of  that  proposition.  Under  their  sustained  gaze 
Babalatchi  experienced  an  unwonted  feeling  of  shy- 
ness, and  dared  not  approach  nearer.  At  last  Willems 
moved  sHghtly,  AbduUa  followed  readily,  and  they 
both  walked  down  the  courtyard,  their  voices  dying 
away  in  the  darkness.  Soon  they  were  heard  return- 
ing, and  the  voices  grew  distinct  as  their  forms  came 
out  of  the  gloom.  By  the  fire  they  wheeled  again,  and 
Babalatchi  caught  a  few  words.    Willems  was  saying — • 

"  I  have  been  at  sea  with  him  many  years  when 
young.  I  have  used  my  knowledge  to  observe  the 
way  into  the  river  when  coming  in,  this  time." 

Abdulla  assented  in  general  terms. 

"  In  the  variety  of  knowledge  there  is  safety,"  he 
said;  and  then  they  passed  out  of  earshot. 

Babalatchi  ran  to  the  tree  and  took  up  his  position 
in  the  solid  blackness  under  its  branches,  leaning 
against  the  trunk.  There  he  was  about  midway  be- 
tween the  fire  and  the  other  limit  of  the  two  men's 
walk.  They  passed  him  close.  Abdulla  slim,  very 
straight,  his  head  high,  and  his  hands  hanging  before 
him  and  twisting  mechanically  the  string  of  beads; 
Willems  tall,  broad,  looking  bigger  and  stronger  in 
contrast  to  the  slight  white  figure  by  the  side  of  which 
he  strolled  carelessly,  taking  one  step  to  the  other's 
two;  his  big  arms  in  constant  motion  as  he  gesticu- 
lated vehemently,  bending  forward  to  look  Abdulla  in 
the  face. 

They  passed  and  repassed  close  to  Babalatchi  some 
half  a  dozen  times,  and,  whenever  they  were  between 
him  and  the  fire,  he  could  see  them  plain  enough. 
Sometimes  they  would  stop  short,  Willems  speaking 
emphatically,  Abdulla  listening  with  rigid  attention, 
then,  when  the  other  had  ceased,  bending  his  head 
slightly  as  if  consenting  to  some  demand,  or  admitting 
some  statement.    Now  and  then  Babalatchi  caught  a 


AN  OUTCAST  OF  THE  ISLANDS.  119 

word  here  and  there,  a  fragment  of  a  sentence,  a  loud 
exclamation.  Impelled  by  curiosity  he  crept  to  the 
very  edge  of  the  black  shadow  under  the  tree.  They 
were  nearing  him,  and  he  heard  Willems  say — 

"  You  will  pay  that  money  as  soon  as  I  come  on 
board.    That  I  must  have." 

He  could  not  catch  Abdulla's  reply.  When  they 
went  past  again,  Willems  was  saying — 

*'  My  life  is  in  your  hand  anyway.  The  boat  that 
brings  me  on  board  your  ship  shall  take  the  money  to 
Omar.    You  must  have  it  ready  in  a  sealed  bag." 

Again  they  were  out  of  hearing,  but  instead  of  com- 
ing back  they  stopped  by  the  fire  facing  each  other. 
Willems  moved  his  arm,  shook  his  hand  on  high  talk- 
ing all  the  time,  then  brought  it  down  jerkily — stamped 
his  foot.  A  short  period  of  immobility  ensued.  Baba- 
latchi,  gazing  intently,  saw  AbduUa's  lips  move  almost 
imperceptibly.  Suddenly  Willems  seized  the  Arab's 
passive  hand  and  shook  it.  Babalatchi  drew  the  long 
breath  of  relieved  suspense.  The  conference  was  over. 
All  well,  apparently. 

He  ventured  now  to  approach  the  two  men,  who 
saw  him  and  waited  in  silence.  Willems  had  retired 
within  himself  already,  and  wore  a  look  of  grim  in- 
difference. Abdulla  moved  away  a  step  or  two.  Baba- 
latchi looked  at  him  inquisitively. 

''  I  go  now,"  said  Abdulla,  ''  and  shall  wait  for  you 
outside  the  river,  Tuan  Willems,  till  the  second  sun- 
set.   You  have  only  one  word,  I  know." 

''  Only  one  word,"  repeated  Willems. 

Abdulla  and  Babalatchi  walked  together  down  the 
enclosure,  leaving  the  white  man  alone  by  the  fire. 
The  two  Arabs  who  had  come  with  Abdulla  preceded 
them  and  passed  at  once  through  the  little  gate  into 
the  light  and  the  murmur  of  voices  of  the  principal 
courtyard,  but  Babalatchi  and  Abdulla  stopped  on  this 
side  of  it.    Abdulla  said — 


I20  AN   OUTCAST  OF   THE   ISLANDS. 

"  It  is  well.  We  have  spoken  of  many  things.  He 
consents." 

"When?"  asked  Babalatchi,  eagerly. 

"  On  the  second  day  from  this.  I  have  promised 
everything.    I  mean  to  keep  much." 

"  Your  hand  is  always  open,  O  Most  Generous 
amongst  Believers!  You  will  not  forget  your  servant 
who  called  you  here.  Have  I  not  spoken  the  truth? 
She  has  made  roast  meat  of  his  heart." 

With  a  horizontal  sweep  of  his  arm  Abdulla 
seemed  to  push  away  that  last  statement,  and  said 
slowly,  with  much  meaning — 

"He  must  be  perfectly  safe;  do  you  understand? 
Perfectly  safe — as  if  he  was  amongst  his  own  people — 
till  .  .  ." 

"Till  when?"  whispered  Babalatchi. 

"  Till  I  speak,"  said  Abdulla.  "  As  to  Omar."  He 
hesitated  for  a  moment,  then  went  on  very  low:  '*  He 
is  very  old." 

"  Hai — ya!  Old  and  sick,"  murmured  Babalatchi, 
with  sudden  melancholy. 

"  He  wanted  me  to  kill  that  white  man.  He  begged 
me  to  have  him  killed  at  once,"  said  Abdulla,  con- 
temptuously, moving  again  towards  the  gate. 

"  He  is  impatient,  like  those  who  feel  death  near 
them,"  exclaimed   Babalatchi,   apologeticallv. 

"  Omar  shall  dwell  with  me,"  went  on  Abdulla, 
"when  .  .  .  But  no  matter.  Remember!  The  white 
man  must  be  safe." 

"  He  lives  in  your  shadow,"  answered  Babalatchi, 
solemnly.  "  It  is  enough!  "  He  touched  his  forehead 
and  fell  back  to  let  Abdulla  go  first. 

And  now  they  are  back  in  the  courtyard  where- 
from,  at  their  appearance,  listlessness  vanishes,  and  all 
the  faces  become  alert  and  interested  once  more.  La- 
kamba  approaches  his  guest,  but  looks  at  Babalatchi, 
who  reassures  him  by  a  confident  nod.     Lakamba 


AN  OUTCAST  OF   THE   ISLANDS.  12 1 

clumsily  attempts  a  smile,  and  looking,  with  natural 
and  ineradicable  sulkiness,  from  under  his  eyebrows 
at  the  man  whom  he  wants  to  honour,  asks  whether 
he  would  condescend  to  visit  the  place  of  sitting  down 
and  take  food.  Or  perhaps  he  would  prefer  to  give 
himself  up  to  repose?  The  house  is  his,  and  what  is 
in  it,  and  those  many  men  that  stand  afar  watching 
the  interview  are  his.  Syed  Abdulla  presses  his  host's 
hand  to  his  breast,  and  informs  him  in  a  confidential 
murmur  that  his  habits  are  ascetic  and  his  tempera- 
ment inclines  to  melancholy.  No  rest;  no  food;  no 
use  whatever  for  those  many  men  who  are  his.  Syed 
Abdulla  is  impatient  to  be  gone.  Lakamba  is  sorrow- 
ful but  polite,  in  his  hesitating,  gloomy  way.  Tuan 
Abdulla  must  have  fresh  boatmen,  and  many,  to 
shorten  the  dark  and  fatiguing  road.  Hai — ya! 
There!     Boats! 

By  the  riverside  indistinct  forms  leap  into  a  noisy 
and  disorderly  activity.  There  are  cries,  orders,  ban- 
ter, abuse.  Torches  blaze  sending  out  much  more 
smoke  than  light,  and  in  their  red  glare  Babalatchi 
comes  up  to  say  that  the  boats  are  ready. 

Through  that  lurid  glare  Syed  Abdulla,  in  his  long 
white  gown,  seems  to  glide  fantastically,  like  a  dig- 
nified apparition  attended  by  two  inferior  shades,  and 
stands  for  a  moment  at  the  landing-place  to  take  leave 
of  his  host  and  ally — whom  he  loves.  Syed  Abdulla 
says  so  distinctly  before  embarking,  and  takes  his  seat 
in  the  middle  of  the  canoe  under  a  small  canopy  of  blue 
calico  stretched  on  four  sticks.  Before  and  behind 
Syed  Abdulla,  the  men  squatting  by  the  gunwales  hold 
high  the  blades  of  their  paddles  in  readiness  for  a  dip, 
all  together.  Ready?  Not  yet.  Hold  on  all!  Syed 
Abdulla  speaks  again,  while  Lakamba  and  Babalatchi 
stand  close  on  the  bank  to  hear  his  words.  His  words 
are  encouraging.  Before  the  sun  rises  for  the  second 
time  they  shall  meet,  and  Syed  Abdulla's  ship  shall 


122  AN   OUTCAST   OF   THE   ISLANDS. 

float  on  the  waters  of  this  river — at  last!  Lakamba 
and  Babalatchi  have  no  doubt — if  Allah  wills.  They 
are  in  the  hands  of  the  Compassionate.  No  doubt. 
And  so  is  Syed  Abduha,  the  great  trader  who  does 
not  know  what  the  word  failure  means;  and  so  is  the 
white  man — the  smartest  business  man  in  the  islands 
— who  is  lying  now  by  Omar's  fire  with  his  head  on 
Aissa's  lap,  while  Syed  AbduUa  flies  down  the  muddy 
river  with  current  and  paddles  between  the  sombre 
walls  of  the  sleeping  forest;  on  his  way  to  the  clear 
and  open  sea  where  the  "  Lord  of  the  Isles  "  (formerly 
of  Greenock,  but  condemned,  sold,  and  registered  now 
as  of  Penang)  waits  for  its  owner,  and  swings  erratic- 
ally  at  anchor  in  the  currents  of  the  capricious  tide, 
under  the  crumbling  red  cliffs  of  Tanjong  jMirrah. 

For  some  time  Lakamba,  Sahamin,  and  Bahassoen 
looked  silently  into  the  humid  darkness  which  had 
swallowed  the  big  canoe  that  carried  Abdulla  and  his 
unvarying  good  fortune.  Then  the  two  guests  broke 
into  a  talk  expressive  of  their  joyful  anticipations.  The 
venerable  Sahamin,  as  became  his  advanced  age,  found 
his  delight  in  speculation  as  to  the  activities  of  a  rather 
remote  future.  He  would  buy  praus,  he  would  send 
expeditions  up  the  river,  he  would  enlarge  his  trade, 
and,  backed  by  Abdulla's  capital,  he  would  grow  rich 
in  a  very  few  years.  Very  few.  Meamtime  it  would 
be  a  good  thing  to  interview  Almayer  to-morrow  and, 
profiting  by  the  last  day  of  the  hated  man's  prosperity, 
(obtain  some  goods  from  him  on  credit.  Sahamin 
thought  it  could  be  done  by  skilful  wheedling.  After 
all,  that  son  of  Satan  was  a  fool,  and  the  thing  was 
worth  doing,  because  the  coming  revolution  would 
wipe  all  debts  out.  Sahamin  did  not  mind  imparting 
that  idea  to  his  companions,  with  much  senile  chuck- 
ling, while  they  strolled  together  from  the  riverside 
towards  the  residence.    The  bull-necked  Lakamba,  li*' 


AN   OUTCAST   OF   THE   ISLANDS. 


123 


tcning  with  pouted  lips  without  the  sign  of  a  smile, 
without  a  gleam  in  his  dull,  bloodshot  eyes,  shuffled 
slowly  across  the  courtyard  between  his  two  guests. 
But  suddenly  Bahassoen  broke  in  upon  the  old  man's 
prattle  with  the  generous  enthusiasm  of  his  youth.  .  .  . 
Trading  was  very  good.  But  was  the  change  that 
would  make  them  happy  effected  yet?  The  white 
man  should  be  despoiled  with  a  strong  hand!  .  .  .  He 
grew  excited,  spoke  very  loud,  and  his  further  dis- 
course, delivered  with  his  hand  on  the  hilt  of  his  sword, 
dealt  incoherently  with  the  honourable  topics  of  throat- 
cutting,  fire-raising,  and  with  the  far-famed  valour  of 
his  ancestors. 

Babalatchi  remained  behind,  alone  with  the  great- 
ness of  his  conceptions.  The  sagacious  statesman  of 
Sambir  sent  a  scornful  glance  after  his  noble  protector 
and  his  noble  protector's  friends,  and  then  stood  medi- 
tating about  that  future  which  to  the  others  seemed 
so  assured.  Not  so  to  Babalatchi,  who  paid  the  penalty 
of  his  wisdom  by  a  vague  sense  of  insecurity  that  kept 
sleep  at  arm's  length  from  his  tired  body.  When  he 
thought  at  last  of  leaving  the  waterside,  it  was  only 
to  strike  a  path  for  himself  and  to  creep  along  the 
fences,  avoiding  the  middle  of  the  courtyard  where 
small  fires  glimmered  and  winked  as  though  the  sinis- 
ter darkness  there  had  reflected  the  stars  of  the  serene 
heaven.  He  slunk  past  the  wicket-gate  of  Omar's 
enclosure,  and  crept  on  patiently  along  the  light  bam- 
boo palisade  till  he  was  stopped  by  the  angle  where 
it  joined  the  heavy  stockade  of  Lakamba's  private 
ground.  Standing  there,  he  could  look  over  the  fence 
and  see  Omar's  hut  and  the  fire  before  its  door.  He 
could  also  see  the  shadow  of  two  human  beings  sitting 
between  him  and  the  red  glow.  A  man  and  a  woman. 
The  sight  seemed  to  inspire  the  careworn  sage  with 
a  frivolous  desire  to  sing.  It  could  hardly  be  called 
'^song;  it  was  more  in  the  nature  of  a  recitative  with- 


124  AN   OUTCAST   OF  THE   ISLANDS. 

out  any  rhythm,  dehvered  rapidly  but  distinctly  in  a 
croaking  and  unsteady  voice;  and  if  Babalatchi  con- 
sidered it  a  song,  then  it  was  a  song  with  a  purpose 
and,  perhaps  for  that  reason,  artistically  defective.  ]t 
had  all  the  imperfections  of  unskilful  improvisation 
and  its  subject  was  gruesome.  It  told  a  tale  of  ship- 
wreck and  of  thirst,  and  of  one  brother  killing  another 
for  the  sake  of  a  gourd  of  water.  A  repulsive  story 
which  might  have  had  a  purpose  but  possessed  no 
moral  whatever.  Yet  it  must  have  pleased  Babalatchi 
for  he  repeated  it  twice,  the  second  time  even  in  louder 
tones  than  at  first,  causing  a  disturbance  amongst  the 
white  rice-birds  and  the  wild  fruit-pigeons  which 
roosted  on  the  boughs  of  the  big  tree  growing  in 
Omar's  compound.  There  was  in  the  thick  foliage 
above  the  singer's  head  a  confused  beating  of  wings, 
sleepy  remarks  in  bird-language,  a  sharp  stir  of  leaves. 
The  forms  by  the  fire  moved;  the  shadow  of  the  wo- 
man altered  its  shape,  and  Babalatchi's  song  was  cut 
short  abruptly  by  a  fit  of  soft  and  persistent  coughing. 
He  did  not  try  to  resume  his  efforts  after  that  interrup- 
tion, but  went  away  stealthily,  to  seek — if  not  sleep — • 
then,  at  least,  repose. 


VI. 

As  soon  as  Abdulla  and  his  companions  had  left  the 
enclosure,  Aissa  approached  Willems  and  stood  by  his 
side.  He  took  no  notice  of  her  expectant  attitude  till 
she  touched  him  gently,  when  he  turned  furiously  upon 
her  and,  tearing  off  her  face-veil,  trampled  upon  it  as 
though  it  had  been  a  mortal  enemy.  She  looked  at 
him  with  the  faint  smile  of  patient  curiosity,  with  the 
puzzled  interest  of  ignorance,  watching  the  running 


AN   OUTCAST   OF   THE   ISLANDS. 


125 


of  a  complicated  piece  of  machinery.  After  he  had 
exhausted  his  rage,  he  stood  again  severe  and  unbend- 
ing looking  down  at  the  fire,  but  the  touch  of  her  fin- 
gers at  the  nape  of  his  neck  effaced  instantly  the  hard 
Hues  round  his  mouth;  his  eyes  wavered  uneasily;  his 
lips  trembled  slightly.  Starting  with  the  unresisting 
rapidity  of  a  particle  of  iron — which,  quiescent  one 
moment,  leaps  in  the  next  to  a  powerful  magnet — he 
moved  forward,  caught  her  in  his  arms  and  pressed 
her  violently  to  his  breast.  He  released  her  as  sud- 
denly, and  she  stumbled  a  little,  stepped  back,  breathed 
quickly  through  her  parted  lips,  and  said  in  a  tone  of 
pleased  reproof — 

"  O  Fool-man!  And  if  you  had  killed  me  in  your 
strong  arms  what  would  you  have  done?" 

"  You  want  to  live  .  .  .  and  to  run  away  from  me 
again,"  he  said,  gently.     "Tell  me — do  you?" 

She  moved  towards  him  with  very  short  steps,  her 
head  a  little  on  one  side,  hands  on  hips,  with  a  slight 
balancing  of  her  body:  an  approach  more  tantalising 
than  an  escape.  He  looked  on,  eager — charmed.  She 
spoke  jestingly. 

*'  What  am  I  to  say  to  a  man  who  has  been  away 
three  days  from  me?  Three!  "  she  repeated,  holding 
up  playfully  three  fingers  before  Willems'  eyes.  He 
snatched  at  the  hand,  but  she  was  on  her  guard  and 
whisked  it  behind  her  back. 

"No!"  she  said.  "I  cannot  be  caught.  But  I 
will  come.  I  am  coming  myself  because  I  like.  Do 
not  move.  Do  not  touch  me  with  your  mighty  hands, 
O  child!" 

As  she  spoke  she  made  a  step  nearer,  then  another. 
Willems  did  not  stir.  Pressing  against  him  she  stood 
on  tiptoe  to  look  into  his  eyes.  With  that  look  she 
drew  the  man's  soul  away  from  him  through  his  im- 
mobile pupils,  and  from  Willems'  features  the  spark 
of  reason  vanished  under  her  gaze  and  was  replaced 


126  AN  OUTCAST  OF  THE   ISLANDS. 

by  an  appearance  of  physical  well-being,  an  ecstasy 
of  the  senses  which  had  tak^n  possession  pf^  his  rigid 
body;  an  ecstasy  that  drove  out  regrets,  hesitation 
and  doubt,  and  proclaimed  its  terrible  work  by  an  ap- 
palling aspect  of  idiotic  beatitude. 

Presently  she  glanced  up  at  the  placid  stars  and 
said — 

"  The  night  is  half  gone.  We  shall  finish  it  by  this 
fire.  By  this  fire  you  shall  tell  me  all:  your  words 
and  Syed  Abdulla's  words;  and  listening  to  you  I  shall 
forget  the  three  days — because  I  am  good.  Tell  me — ■ 
am  I  good?  " 

He  said  "  Yes  "  dreamily,  and  she  ran  off  towards 
the  big  house. 

When  she  came  back,  balancing  a  roll  of  fine  mats 
on  her  head,  he  had  replenished  the  fire  and  was  ready 
to  help  her  in  arranging  a  couch  on  the  side  of  it  near- 
est to  the  hut.  Then  he  whispered — *'  I  wish  I  could 
die  like  this — now!  "  She  looked  at  him  with  her  big 
sombre  eyes,  in  which  there  was  no  responsive  light. 
His  thought  was  so  remote  from  her  understanding 
that  she  let  the  words  pass  by  uni.oticed,  like  the  breath 
of  the  wind,  like  the  flight  of  a  cloud.  Woman  though 
she  was,  she  could  not  compiehend,  in  her  simplicity, 
the  tremendous  compliment  of  that  speech,  that  whis- 
per of  deadly  happiness,  so  sincere,  so  spontaneous, 
coming _so_  straight  fromjjie  heart^3:likj£_£;Yery  cor- 
ruption. It  was  the  voice  of  ^-ciness,  of  a  delirious 
peace,  of  happniess  that  is  infamous,  cowardly,  and  so 
exquisite  that  the  debased  mind  refuses  to  contemplate 
its  termination:  for  to  the  victims  of  such  happiness 
the  moment  of  its  ceasing  is  the  beginning  afresh  of 
that  torture  which  is  its  price. 

With  her  brows  slightly  knitted  in  the  determined 
preoccupation  of  her  own  desires,  she  said — 

"  Now  tell  me  all.  All  the  words  spoken  between 
you  and  Syed  Abdulla." 


AN  OUTCAST  OF   THE   ISLANDS. 


127 


Tell  what?  What  words?  Her  voice  recalled  back 
the  consciousness  that  had  departed  under  her  touch, 
and  he  became  aware  of  the  passing  minutes  every 
one  of  which  was  like  a  reproach;  of  those  minutes 
that  falling,  slow,  reluctant,  irresistible  into  the  past 
marked  his  footsteps  on  the  way  to  perdition.  Not  that 
he  had  any  conviction  about  it,  any  notion  of  the  pos- 
sible ending  on  that  painful  road.  It  was  an  indistinct 
feeHng,  a  threat  of  suffering  like  the  confused  warning 
of  coming  disease,  an  inarticulate  monition  of  evil 
made  up  of  fear  and  pleasure,  of  resignation  and  of 
revolt.  He  was  ashamed  of  his  state  of  mind.  After 
all,  what  was  he  afraid  of?  Were  those  scruples?  Why 
that  hesitation  to  think,  to  speak  of  what  he  intended 
doing?  Scruples  were  for  imbeciles.  His  clear  duty 
was  to  make  himself  happy.  Did  he  ever  take  an  oath 
of  fidelity  to  Lingard?  No.  Well  then — he  would  not 
let  any  interest  of  that  old  fool  stand  between  Willems 
and  Willems'  happiness.  Happiness?  Was  he  not, 
perchance,  on  a  false  track?  Happiness  meant  money. 
Much  money.  At  least  he  had  always  thought  so  till 
he  had  experienced  those  new  sensations  which  .  .  . 

Ai'ssa's  question,  repeated  impatiently,  interrupted 
his  musings,  and  looking  up  at  her  face  shining  above 
him  in  the  dim  light  of  the  fire  he  stretched  his  limbs 
luxuriously  and  obedient  to  her  desire,  he  spoke  slowly 
and  hardly  above  his  breath.  She,  with  her  head  close 
to  his  lips,  listened  absorbed,  interested,  in  attentive 
immobility.  The  many  noises  of  the  great  courtyard 
were  hushed  up  gradually  by  the  sleep  that  stilled  all 
voices  and  closed  all  eyes.  Then  somebody  droned 
out  a  song  with  a  nasal  drawl  at  the  end  of  every  verse. 
He  stirred.  She  put  her  hand  suddenly  on  his  lips  and 
sat  upright.  There  was  a  feeble  coughing,  a  rustle  of 
leaves,  and  then  a  complete  silence  took  possession  of 
the  land;  a  silence  cold,  mournful,  profound;  more 
like  death  than  peace;    more  hard  to  bear  than  the 


y 


128  AN  OUTCAST   OF   THE   ISLANDS. 

fiercest  tumult.  As  soon  as  she  removed  her  hand  he 
hastened  to  speak,  so  insupportable  to  him  was  that 
stillness  perfect  and  absolute  in  which  his  thoughts 
seemed  to  ring  with  the  loudness  of  shouts. 

"  Who  was  there  making  that  noise?  "  he  asked. 

'*  I  do  not  know.  He  is  gone  now,"  she  answered 
hastily.  "  Tell  me,  you  will  not  return  to  your  people ; 
not  without  me?    Not  with  me.     Do  you  promise?" 

"  I  have  promised  already.  I  have  no  people  of  my 
own.  Have  I  not  told  you,  that  you  are  everybody 
to  me?  " 

"  Ah,  yes,"  she  said  slowly,  "  but  I  like  to  hear  you 
say  that  again — every  day,  and  every  night,  whenever 
I  ask;  and  never  to  be  angry  because  I  ask.  I  am 
afraid  of  white  women  who  are  shameless  and  have 
fierce  eyes."  She  scanned  his  features  close  for  a  mo- 
ment and  added:  "Are  they  very  beautiful?  They 
must  be." 

'*  I  do  not  know,"  he  whispered  thoughtfully. 
"  And  if  I  ever  did  know,  looking  at  you  I  have  for- 
gotten." 

"Forgotten!  And  for  three  days  and  two  nights 
you  have  forgotten  me  also!  Why?  Why  were  you 
angry  with  me  when  I  spoke  at  first  of  Tuan  AbduUa 
in  the  days  when  we  lived  beside  the  brook?  You 
remembered  somebody  then.  Somebody  in  the  land 
whence  you  come.  Your  tongue  is  false.  You  are 
white  indeed,  and  your  heart  is  full  of  deception.  I 
know  it.  And  yet  I  cannot  help  believing  you  when 
you  talk  of  your  love  for  me.     But  I  am  afraid!  " 

He  felt  flattered  and  annoyed  by  her  vehemence, 
and  said — 

"  Well,  I  am  with  you  now.  I  did  come  back.  And 
it  was  you  that  went  away." 

"  When  vou  have  helped  Abdulla  against  the  Rajah 
Laut,  who  is  the  first  of  white  men,  I  shall  not  be 
afraid  any  more,"  she  whispered. 


AN   OUTCAST   OF   THE   ISLANDS. 


129 


"  You  must  believe  what  I  say  when  I  tell  you  that 
there  never  was  another  woman;  that  there  is  noth- 
ing for  me  to  regret,  and  nothing  but  my  enemies  to 
remember/' 

"  Where  do  you  come  from?"  she  said,  impulsive 
aad  inconsequent,  in  a  passionate  whisper.  "  What 
is  that  land  beyond  the  great  sea  from  which  you 
come?_.A  land  of  lies  and  of  evil  from  which  nothing 
but  misfortune)  ever  comes  to  us — who  are  not  white. 
Did  you  not  at  first  ask  me  to  go  there  with  you? 
That  is  why  I  went  away." 

'*  I  shall  never  ask  you  again." 

"  And  there  is  no  woman  waiting  for  you  there?" 

"  No !  "  said  Willems,  firmly. 

There  was  a  long  interval  of  silence.  She  stroked 
his  head  with  gentle  touches,  and  he  lay  dreamily,  per- 
fectly happy  but  for  the  annoyance  of  an  indistinct  vi- 
sion of  a  well-known  figure ;  a  man  going  away  from 
him  and  diminishing  in  a  long  perspective  of  fantastic 
trees,  whose  every  leaf  was  an  eye  looking  after  that 
man,  who  walked  away  growing  smaller,  but  never 
getting  out  of  sight  for  all  his  steady  progress.  He 
felt  a  desire  to  see  him  vanish,  a  hurried  impatience 
of  his  disappearance,  and  he  watched  for  it  with  a  care- 
ful and  irksome  effort.  There  was  something  familiar 
about  that  figure.  Why!  Himself!  He  gave  a  sudden 
start  and  opened  his  eyes,  quivering  with  the  emotion 
of  that  quick  return  from  so  far,  of  finding  himself 
back  by  the  fire  with  the  rapidity  of  a  flash  of  lightning. 
It  had  been  half  a  dream;  he  had  slumbered  for  a  few 
seconds.  Only  the  beginning  of  a  dream — nothing 
more.  But  it  was  some  time  before  he  recovered  from 
the  shock  of  seeing  himself  go  away  so  deliberately, 
so  definitely,  so  unguardedly;  and  going  away — 
where?  Now,  if  he  had  not  woke  up  in  time  he  would 
never  have  come  back  again  from  there;  from  what- 
ever place  he  was  going  to.    He  felt  indignant.    It  was 


I30 


AN  OUTCAST  OF  THE   ISLANDS. 


like  an  evasion,  like  a  prisoner  breaking  his  parole 
— that  thing  slinking  off  stealthily  while  he  slept.  He 
was  very  indignant,  and  was  also  astonished  at  the 
absurdity  of  his  own  emotions. 

She  felt  him  tremble,  and  murmuring  tender  words, 
pressed  his  head  to  her  breast.  Again  he  felt  very 
peaceful  with  a  peace  that  was  as  complete  as  the  si- 
lence round  them.     He  muttered — 

"  You  are  tired,  Aissa." 

She  answered  so  low  that  it  was  like  a  sigh  shaped 
into  faint  words. 

"  I  shall  watch  your  sleep,  O  child!  " 

He  lay  very  quiet,  and  listened  to  the  beating  of 
her  heart.  That  sound,  light,  rapid,  persistent  and 
steady;  her  very  life  beating  against  his  cheek,  gave 
him  a  clear  perception  of  secure  ownership,  strength- 
ened his  belief  in  his  possession  of  that  human  being, 
was  like  an  assurance  of  the  vague  felicity  of  the  future. 
There  were  no  regrets,  no  doubts,  no  hesitation  now. 
Had  there  ever  been?  All  that  seemed  far  away,  ages 
ago — as  unreal  and  pale  as  the  fading  memory  of  some 
delirium.  All  the  anguish,  suffering,  strife  of  the  past 
days;  the  humiliation  and  anger  of  his  downfall;  all 
that  was  an  infamous  nightmare,  a  thing  born  in  sleep 
to  be  forgotten  and  leave  no  trace — and  true  life  was 
this:  this  dreamy  immobility  with  his  head  against  her 
heart  that  beat  so  steadily. 

He  was  broad  awake  now,  with  that  tingling  wake- 
fulness of  the  tired  body  which  succeeds  to  the  few 
refreshing  seconds  of  irresistible  sleep,  and  his  wide- 
open  eyes  looked  absently  at  the  doorway  of  Omar's 
hut.  The  reed  walls  glistened  in  the  light  of  the  fire, 
the  smoke  of  which,  thin  and  blue,  drifted  slanting  in 
a  succession  of  rings  and  spirals  across  the  doorway, 
whose  emptv  blackness  seemed  to  him  impenetrable 
and  enigmatical  like  a  curtain  hiding  vast  spaces  full 
of  unexpected  surprises.    This  was  only  his  fancy,  but 


AN  OUTCAST  OF   THE   ISLANDS. 


131 


it  was  absorbing  enough  to  make  him  accept  the  sud- 
den appearance  of  a  head,  coming  out  of  the  gloom, 
as  part  of  his  idle  fantasy  or  as  the  beginning  of  an- 
other short  dream,  of  another  vagary  of  his  overtired 
brain.  A  face  with  drooping  eyelids,  old,  thin,  and 
yellow,  above  the  scattered  white  of  a  long  beard  that 
touched  the  earth.  A  head  without  a  body,  only  a  foot 
above  the  ground,  turning  slightly  from  side  to  side 
on  the  edge  of  the  circle  of  light  as  if  to  catch  the  radi- 
ating heat  of  the  fire  on  either  cheek  in  succession.  He 
watched  it  in  passive  amazement,  growing  distinct,  as 
if  coming  nearer  to  him,  and  the  confused  outlines  of 
a  body  crawling  on  all  fours  come  out,  creeping  inch 
by  inch  towards  the  fire,  with  a  silent  and  all  but  im- 
perceptible movement.  He  was  astounded  at  the  ap- 
pearance of  that  blind  head  dragging  that  crippled 
body  behind,  without  a  sound,  without  a  change  in 
the  composure  of  the  sightless  face,  which  was  plain 
one  second,  blurred  the  next  in  the  play  of  the  light 
that  drew  it  to  itself  steadily.  A  mute  face  with  a  kriss 
between  its  lips.  This  was  no  dream.  Omar's  face. 
But  why?    What  was  he  after? 

He  was  too  indolent  in  the  happy  languor  of  the 
moment  to  answer  the  question.  It  darted  through 
his  brain  and  passed  out,  leaving  him  free  to  listen 
again  to  the  beating  of  her  heart ;  to  that  precious  and 
delicate  sound  which  filled  the  quiet  immensity  of  the 
night.  Glancing  upwards  he  saw  the  motionless  head 
of  the  woman  looking  down  at  him  in  a  tender  gleam 
of  liquid  white  between  the  long  eyelashes,  whose 
shadow  rested  on  the  soft  curve  of  her  cheek;  and 
under  the  caress  of  that  look,  the  uneasy  wonder  and 
the  obscure  fear  of  that  apparition,  crouching  and 
creeping  in  turns  towards  the  fire  that  was  its  guide, 
were  lost — were  drowned  in  the  quietude  of  all  his 
senses,  as  pain  is  drowned  in  the  flood  of  drowsy  se- 
renity that  follows  upon  a  dose  of  opium. 


132  AN   OUTCAST   OF   THE   ISLANDS. 

He  altered  the  position  of  his  head  by  ever  so  little, 
and  now  could  see  easily  that  apparition  which  he  had 
seen  a  minute  before  and  had  nearly  forgotten  already. 
It  had  moved  closer,  gliding  and  noiseless  like  the 
shadow  of  some  nightmare,  and  now  it  was  there,  very 
near,  motionless  and  still  as  if  listening;  one  hand  and 
one  knee  advanced;  the  neck  stretched  out  and  the 
head  turned  full  towards  the  fire.  He  could  see  the 
emaciated  face,  the  skin  shiny  over  the  prominent 
bones,  tlie  black  shadows  of  the  hollow  temples  and 
sunken  cheeks,  and  the  two  patches  of  blackness  over 
the  eyes,  over  those  eyes  that  were  dead  and  could  not 
see.  What  was  the  impulse  which  drove  out  this  blind 
cripple  into  the  night  to  creep  and  crawl  towards  that 
fire?  He  looked  at  him,  fascinated,  but  the  face,  with 
its  shifting  lights  and  shadows,  let  out  nothing,  closed 
and  impenetrable  like  a  walled  door. 

Omar  raised  himself  to  a  kneeling  posture  and  sank 
on  his  heels,  with  his  hands  hanging  down  before  him. 
Willems,  looking  out  of  his  dreary  numbness,  could 
see  plainly  the  kriss  between  the  thin  lips,  a  bar  across 
the  face;  the  handle  on  one  side  where  the  polished 
wood  caught  a  red  gleam  from  the  fire  and  the  thin 
line  of  the  blade  running  to  a  dull  black  point  on  the 
other.  He  felt  an  inward  shock,  which  left  his  body 
passive,  but  filled  his  breast  with  a  tumult  of  powerless 
fear;  and  he  perceived  suddenly  that  it  was  his  own 
death  that  was  groping  towards  him;  that  it  was  the 
hate  of  himself  and  the  hate  of  her  love  for  him  which 
drove  this  helpless  wreck,  of  a  once  brilliant  and  reso- 
lute pirate,  to  attempt  a  desperate  deed  that  would  be 
the  glorious  and  supreme  consolation  of  an  unhappy 
old  age.  And  while  he  looked,  paralysed  with  dread, 
at  the  father  who  had  resumed  his  cautious  advance — 
blind  like  fate,  persistent  like  destiny — he  listened  with 
greedy  eagerness  to  the  heart  of  the  daughter  beating 
light,  rapid,  and  steady  against  his  head. 


AN   OUTCAST   OF   THE   ISLANDS.  133 

He  was  in  the  grip  of  horrible  fear;  of  a  fear  whose 
cold  hands  robs  its  victim  of  all  will  and  of  all  power; 
of  all  wish  to  escape,  to  resist,  or  to  move;  which 
destroys  hope  and  despair  alike,  and  holds  the  empty 
and  useless  carcass  as  if  in  a  vice  under  the  coming 
stroke.  It  was  not  the  fear  of  death — he  had  faced 
danger  before — it  was  not  even  the  fear  of  that  par- 
ticular form  of  death.  It  was  not  the  fear  of  the  end, 
for  he  knew  that  the  end  would  not  come  then.  A 
movement,  a  leap,  a  shout  would  save  him  from  the 
feeble  hand  of  the  blind  old  man,  from  that  hand  that 
even  now  was,  with  cautious  sweeps  along  the  ground, 
feeling  for  his  body  in  the  darkness.  It  was  the  un- 
reasoning fear  of  this  glimpse  into  the  unknown  things, 
into  those  motives,  impulses,  desires  he  had  ignored, 
but  that  had  lived  in  the  breasts  of  despised  men,  close 
by  his  side,  and  were  revealed  to  him  for  a  second, 
to  be  hidden  again  behind  the  black  mists  of  doubt 
and  deception.  It_was  not  death  thatjrightened  him: 
itwas^  the__hQrror_of  bewildered  life  wherehe  ^oul  d 
understand  nothing  and  nobody  round  him ;  where  he 
could  guide,  control,  comprehend  nothing  and  no  one 
— not  even  himself. 

He  felt  a  touch  on  his  side.  That  contact,  lighter 
than  the  caress  of  a  mother's  hand  on  the  cheek  of  a 
sleeping  child,  had  for  him  the  force  of  a  crushing 
blow.  Omar  had  crept  close,  and  now,  kneeling  above 
him,  held  the  kriss  in  one  hand  while  the  other 
skimmed  over  his  jacket  up  towards  his  breast  in  gen- 
tle touches;  but  the  blind  face,  still  turned  to  the  heat 
of  the  fire,  was  set  and  immovable  in  its  aspect  of 
stony  indifference  to  things  it  could  not  hope  to  see. 
With  an  effort  Willems  took  his  eyes  off  the  deathlike 
mask  and  turned  them  up  to  Ai'ssa's  head.  She  sat 
motionless  as  if  she  had  been  part  of  the  sleeping  earth, 
then  suddenly  he  saw  her  big  sombre  eyes  open  out 
wide  in  a  piercing  stare  and  felt  the  convulsive  pressure 


134 


AN  OUTCAST  OF  THE  ISLANDS. 


of  her  hands  pinning  his  arms  along  his  body.  A  sec- 
ond dragged  itself  out,  slow  and  bitter,  like  a  day  of 
mourning;  a  second  full  of  regret  and  grief  for  that 
faith  in  her  which  took  its  flight  from  the  shattered 
ruins  of  his  trust.  She  was  holding  him!  She  too! 
He  felt  her  heart  give  a  great  leap,  his  head  slipped 
down  on  her  knees,  he  closed  his  eyes  and  there  was 
nothing.  Nothing!  It  was  as  if  she  had  died;  as 
though  her  heart  had  leaped  out  into  the  night,  aban- 
doning him,  defenceless  and  alone,  in  an  empty  world. 
His  head  struck  the  ground  heavily  as  she  flung 
him  aside  in  her  sudden  rush.  He  lay  as  if  stunned, 
face  up  and,  daring  not  move,  did  not  see  the  struggle 
but  heard  the  piercing  shriek  of  mad  fear,  her  low 
angry  words;  another  shriek  dying  out  in  a  moan. 
When  he  got  up  at  last  he  looked  at  Aissa  kneeling 
over  her  father,  he  saw  her  bent  back  in  the  effort  of 
holding  him  down,  Omar's  contorted  limbs,  a  hand 
thrown  up  above  her  head  and  her  quick  movement 
grasping  the  wrist.  He  made  an  impulsive  step  for- 
ward, but  she  turned  a  wild  face  to  him  and  called  out 
over  her  shoulder — 

"Keep  back!  Do  not  come  near!  Do  not  .  .  ." 
And  he  stopped  short,  his  arms  hanging  lifelessly 
by  his  side,  as  if  those  words  had  changed  him  into 
stone.  She  was  afraid  of  his  possible  violence,  but  in 
the  unsettling  of  all  his  convictions  he  was  struck  with 
the  frightful  thought  that  she  preferred  to  kill  her 
father  all  by  herself;  and  the  last  stage  of  their  strug- 
gle, at  which  he  looked  as  though  a  red  fog  had  filled 
his  eyes,  loomed  up  with  an  unnatural  ferocity,  with 
a  sinister  meaning;  like  something  monstrous  and  de- 
praved, forcing  its  complicity  upon  him  under  the 
cover  of  that  awful  night.  He  was  horrified  and  grate- 
ful ;  drawn  irresistibly  to  her — and  ready  to  run  away. 
He  could  not  move  at  first — then  he  did  not  want  to 
stir.    He  wanted  to  see  what  would  happen.    He  saw 


AN  OUTCAST   OF  THE   ISLANDS.  1 35 

her  lift,  with  a  tremendous  effort,  the  apparently  lifef- 
less  body  into  the  hut,  and  remained  standing,  after 
they  disappeared,  with  the  vivid  image  in  his  eyes  of 
that  head  swaying  on  her  shoulder,  the  lower  jaw 
hanging  down,  collapsed,  passive,  meaningless,  Hk«» 
the  head  of  a  corpse. 

Then  after  a  while  he  heard  her  voice  speaking 
inside,  harshly,  with  an  agitated  abruptness  of  tone; 
and  in  answer  there  were  groans  and  broken  murmurs 
of  exhaustion.  She  spoke  louder.  He  heard  her  say- 
ing violently — "No!    No!     Never!" 

And  again  a  plaintive  murmur  of  entreaty  as  of 
some  one  begging  for  a  supreme  favour  with  a  last 
breath.    Then  she  said — 

''Never!  I  would  sooner  strike  it  into  my  own 
heart." 

She  came  out,  stood  panting  for  a  short  moment 
in  the  doorway,  and  then  stepped  into  the  firelight. 
Behind  her,  through  the  darkness  came  the  sound  of 
words  calling  the  vengeance  of  heaven  on  her  head, 
rising  higher,  shrill,  strained,  repeating  the  curse  over 
and  over  again — till  the  voice  cracked  in  a  passionate 
shriek  that  died  out  into  hoarse  muttering  ending  with 
a  deep  and  prolonged  sigh.  She  stood  facing  Willems, 
one  hand  behind  her  back,  the  other  raised  in  a  gesture 
compelling  attention,  and  she  listened  in  that  attitude 
till  all  was  still  inside  the  hut.  Then  she  made  another 
step  forward  and  her  hand  dropped  slowly. 

"  Nothing  but  misfortune,"  she  whispered,  absent- 
ly, to  herself.  "  Nothing  but  misfortune  to  us  who  are 
not  white."  The  anger  and  excitement  died  out  of 
her  face,  and  she  looked  straight  at  Willems  with  an 
intense  and  mournful  gaze. 

He  recovered  his  senses  and  his  power  of  speech 
with  a  sudden  start. 

"  Aissa,"  he  exclaimed,  and  the  words  broke  out 
through  his  lips  with  hurried  nervousness.     '*  Aissa i 


136  AN   OUTCAST   OF   THE   ISLANDS. 

How  can  I  live  here?  Trust  me.  Believe  in  me.  Let 
us  go  away  from  here.  Go  very  far  away!  Very  far; 
you  and  I!  " 

He  dicl  not  stop  to  ask  himself  whether  he  could 
escape,  and  how,  and  where.  He  was  carried  away 
by  the  flood  of  hate,  disgust  and  contempt  of  a  white 
man  for  that  blood  which  is  not  his  blood,  for  that 
race  which  is  not  his  race;  for  the  brown  skins;  for 
the  hearts  false  like  the  sea,  blacker  than  night.  This 
feeling  of  repulsion  overmastered  his  reason  in  a  clear 
conviction  of  the  impossibility  for  him  to  live  with  her 
people.  He  urged  her  passionately  to  fly  with  him 
because  out  of  all  that  abhorred  crowd  he  wanted  this 
one  woman,  but  wanted  her  away  from  them,  away 
from  that  race  of  slaves  and  cut-throats  from  which 
she  sprang.  He  wanted  her  for  himself — far  from 
everybody,  in  some  safe  and  dumb  solitude.  And  as 
he  spoke  his  anger  and  contempt  rose,  his  hate  became 
almost  fear;  and  his  desire  of  her  grew  immense,  burn- 
ing, illogical  and  merciless;  crying  to  him  through 
all  his  senses;  louder  than  his  hate,  stronger  than  his 
fear,  deeper  than  his  contempt — irresistible  and  certain 
like  death  itself. 

Standing  at  a  little  distance,  just  within  the  light- 
but  on  the  threshold  of  that  darkness  from  which  she 
had  come — she  listened,  one  hand  still  behind  her  back, 
the  other  arm  stretched  out  with  the  hand  half  open 
as  if  to  catch  the  fleeting  words  that  rang  around  her, 
passionate,  menacing,  imploring,  but  all  tinged  with 
the  anguish  of  his  sufifering,  all  hurried  by  the  impa- 
tience that  gnawed  his  breast.  And  while  she  listened 
she  felt  like  a  slowing  down  of  her  heart-beats  as  the 
meaning  of  his  appeal  grew  clearer  before  her  indig- 
nant eyes,  as  she  saw  with  rage  and  pain  the  edifice 
of  her  love,  her  own  work,  crumble  slowly  to  pieces, 
destroyed  by  that  man's  fears,  by  that  man's  falseness. 
Her  memory  recalled  the  days  by  the  brook  when  she 


AN    OUTCAST   OF   THE   ISLANDS. 


137 


had  listened  to  other  words — to  other  thoughts — to 
promises  and  to  pleadings  for  other  things,  which  came 
from  that  man's  lips  at  the  bidding  of  her  look  or  her 
smile,  at  the  nod  of  her  head,  at  the  whisper  of  her 
lips.  Was  there  then  in  his  heart  something  else  than 
her  image,  other  desires  than  the  desires  of  her  love, 
other  fears  than  the  fear  of  losing  her?  How  could 
that  be?  Had  she  grown  ugly  or  old  in  a  moment? 
She  was  appalled,  surprised  and  angry  with  the  anger 
of  unexpected  humiliation;  and  her  eyes  looked  fix- 
edly, sombre  and  steady,  at  that  man  born  in  the  land 
of  violence  and  of  evil  wherefrom  nothing  but  mis- 
fortune comes  to  those  who  are  not  white.  Instead 
of  thinking  of  her,  he  was  thinking  yet  of  his  people ; 
of  that  people  that  steals  every  land,  masters  every 
sea,  that  knows  no  mercy  and  no  truth — knows  noth- 
ing but  its  own  strength.  O  man  of  strong  arm  and 
of  false  heart!  Go  with  him  to  a  far  country,  be  lost 
in  the  throng  of  cold  eyes  and  false  hearts — lose  him 
there!  Never!  He  was  mad — mad  with  fear;  but  he 
should  not  escape  her!  She  would  keep  him  here  a 
slave  and  a  master;  here  where  he  was  alone  with  her; 
where  he  must  live  for  her — or  die.  She  had  a  right 
to  his  love  which  was  of  her  making,  to  the  love  that 
was  in  him  now,  while  he  spoke  those  words  without 
sense.  She  must  put  between  him  and  other  white 
men  a  barrier  of  hate.  He  must  not  only  stay,  but  he 
must  also  keep  his  promise  to  Abdulla,  the  fulfilment 
of  which  would  make  her  safe.  .  .  . 

"  Aissa,  let  us  go !  With  you  by  my  side  I  would 
attack  them  with  my  naked  hands.  Or  no!  To-mor- 
row we  shall  be  outside,  on  board  Abdulla's  ship.  You 
shall  come  with  me  and  then  I  could  ...  If  the  ship 
went  ashore  by  some  chance,  then  we  could  steal  a 
canoe  and  escape  in  the  confusion.  .  .  .  You  are  not 
afraid  of  the  sea  ...  of  the  sea  that  would  give  me 
freedom  .  .  ." 


138 


AN   OUTCAST   OF   THE   ISLANDS. 


He  was  approaching  her  gradually  with  extended 
arms,  while  he  pleaded  ardently  in  incoherent  words 
that  ran  over  and  tripped  each  other  in  the  extreme 
eagerness  of  his  speech.  She  stepped  back,  keeping 
her  distance,  her  eyes  on  his  face,  watching  on  it  the 
play  of  his  doubts  and  of  his  hopes  with  a  piercing 
gaze,  that  seemed  to  search  out  the  innermost  recesses 
of  his  thought;  and  it  was  as  if  she  had  drawn  slowly 
the  darkness  round  her,  wrapping  herself  in  its  un- 
dulating folds  that  made  her  indistinct  and  vague. 
He  followed  her  step  by  step  till  at  last  they  both 
stopped,  facing  each  other  under  the  big  tree  of  the 
enclosure.  The  solitary  exile  of  the  forests,  great, 
motionless  and  solemn  in  his  abandonment,  left  alone 
by  the  life  of  ages  that  had  been  pushed  away  from 
him  by  those  pigmies  that  crept  at  his  foot,  towered 
high  and  straight  above  their  heads.  He  seemed  to 
look  on,  dispassionate  and  imposing,  in  his  lonely 
greatness,  spreading  his  branches  wide  in  a  gesture 
of  lofty  protection,  as  if  to  hide  them  in  the  sombre 
shelter  of  innumerable  leaves;  as  if  moved  by  the  dis- 
dainful compassion  of  the  strong,  by  the  scornful  pity 
of  an  aged  giant,  to  screen  this  struggle  of  two  human 
hearts  from  the  cold  scrutiny  of  glittering  stars. 

The  last  cry  of  his  appeal  to  her  mercy  rose  loud, 
vibrated  under  the  sombre  canopy,  darted  among  the 
boughs  startling  the  white  birds  that  slept  wing  to 
wing — and  died  without  an  echo,  strangled  in  the  dense 
mass  of  unstirring  leaves.  He  could  not  see  her  face, 
but  he  heard  her  sighs  and  the  distracted  murmur  of 
indistinct  words.  Then,  as  he  Hstened  holding  his 
breath,  she  exclaimed  suddenly — 

"  Have  you  heard  him?  He  has  cursed  me  because 
I  love  you.  You  brought  me  suffering  and  strife — « 
and  his  curse.  And  now  you  want  to  take  me  far 
away  where  I  would  lose  you,  lose  my  life;  because 
your  love  is  my  life  now.    What  else  is  there?    Do 


AN   OUTCAST   OF   THE    ISLANDS. 


139 


not  move,"  she  cried  violently,  as  he  stirred  a  little — 
*'  do  not  speak!    Take  this!    Sleep  in  peace!  " 

He  saw  a  shadowy  movement  of  her  arm.  Some- 
thing whizzed  past  and  struck  the  ground  behind  him, 
close  to  the  fire.  Instinctively  he  turned  round  to  look 
at  it.  A  kriss  without  its  sheath  lay  by  the  embers; 
a  sinuous  dark  object,  looking  like  something  that 
had  been  alive  and  was  now  crushed,  dead  and  very 
inoffensive;  a  black  wavy  outline  very  distinct  and 
still  in  the  dull  red  glow.  Without  thinking  he  moved 
to  pick  it  up,  stooping  with  the  sad  and  humble  move- 
ment of  a  beggar  gathering  the  alms  flung  into  the 
dust  of  the  roadside.  Was  this  the  answer  to  his  plead- 
ing, to  the  hot  and  living  words  that  came  from  his 
heart?  Was  this  the  answer  thrown  at  him  like  an 
insult,  that  thing  made  of  wood  and  iron,  insignificant 
and  venomous,  fragile  and  deadly?  He  held  it  by  the 
blade  and  looked  at  the  handle  stupidly  for  a  moment 
before  he  let  it  fall  again  at  his  feet;  and  when  he 
turned  round  he  faced  only  the  night: — the  night  im- 
mense, profound  and  quiet;  a  sea  of  darkness  in  which 
she  had  disappeared  without  leaving  a  trace. 

He  moved  forward  with  uncertain  steps,  putting 
out  both  his  hands  before  him  with  the  anguish  of  a 
man  blinded  suddenly. 

''Aissa!"  he  cried — "come  to  me  at  once." 

Let  him  touch  her  only;  speak  to  her  while  he  held 
fter  in  his  arms,  under  the  gaze  of  his  eyes,  close,  face 
to  face!  In  the  tenderness  of  his  caress  he  would  melt 
her  obstinacy,  destroy  her  fears,  and  talking  to  her 
the  only  language  common  to  them  both — that  speech 
without  words,  the  language  of  the  senses — he  would 
make  her  understand,  he  would  obtain  her  consent  to 
any  wish  of  his.  Again  he  called  out,  and  this  time 
his  voice  trembled  with  eagerness  and  apprehension — • 

"Aissa!" 

He  peered  and  listened,  but  saw  nothing,  heard 
10 


1^0  AN    OUTCAST   OF   THE   ISLANDS. 

nothing.  After  a  while  the  solid  blackness  seemed  to 
wave  before  his  eyes  like  a  curtain  disclosing  move- 
ments but  hiding  forms,  and  he  heard  light  and  hurried 
footsteps,  then  the  short  clatter  of  the  gate  leading 
to  Lakamba's  private  enclosure.  He  sprang  forward 
and  brought  up  against  the  rough  timber  in  time  to 
hear  the  words,  "Quick!  Quick!"  and  the  sound 
of  the  wooden  bar  dropped  on  the  other  side,  securing 
the  gate.  With  his  arms  thrown  up,  the  palms  against 
the  paling,  he  slid  down  in  a  heap  on  the  ground. 

''  Aissa,"  he  said,  pleadingly,  pressing  his  lips  to 
a  chink  between  the  stakes.  "  Aissa,  do  you  hear  me? 
Come  back !  I  will  do  what  you  want,  give  you  all  you 
desire — if  I  have  to  set  the  whole  Sambir  on  fire  and 
put  that  fire  out  with  blood.  Only  come  back.  Now! 
At  once!    Are  you  there?    Do  you  hear  me?    Aissa!  " 

On  the  other  side  there  were  startled  whispers  of 
feminine  voices;  a  frightened  little  laugh  suddenly  in- 
terrupted; some  woman's  admiring  murmur — "This 
is  brave  talk!  "  Then  after  a  short  silence  Aissa  cried — 

"  Sleep  in  peace — for  the  time  of  your  going  is  nean 
Now  I  am  afraid  of  you.  Afraid  of  your  fear.  When 
you  return  with  Tuan  Abdulla  you  shall  be  great.  You 
will  find  me  here.  And  there  will  be  nothing  but  love. 
Nothing  else! — Always! — Till  we  die!" 

He  listened  to  the  shuffle  of  footsteps  going  away, 
and  staggered  to  his  feet,  mute  with  the  excess  of  his 
passionate  anger  against  that  being  so  savage  and  so 
charming;  loathing  her,  himself,  everybody  he  had 
ever  known;  the  earth,  the  sky,  the  very  air  he  drew 
into  his  oppressed  chest;  loathing  it  because  it  made 
him  live,  loathing  her  because  she  made  him  suffer. 
But  he  could  not  leave  that  gate  through  which  she 
had  passed.  He  wandered  a  little  way  off,  then  swerved 
round,  came  back  and  fell  down  again  by  the  stockade 
only  to  rise  suddenly  in  another  attempt  to  break  away 
from  the  spell  that  held  him,  that  brought  him  back 


AN  OUTCAST   OF   THE   ISLANDS.  141 

there,  dumb,  obedient  and  furious.  And  under  the 
immobiHsed  gesture  of  lofty  protection  in  the  branches 
outspread  wide  above  his  head,  under  the  high 
branches  where  white  birds  slept  wing  to  wing  in  the 
shelter  of  countless  leaves,  he  tossed  like  a  grain  of  dust 
in  a  whirlwind — sinking  and  rising — round  and  round 
— always  near  that  gate.  All  through  the  languid  still- 
ness of  that  night  he  fought  with  the  impalpable;  he 
fought  with  the  shadows,  with  the  darkness,  with  the 
silence.  He  fought  without  a  sound,  striking  futile 
blows,  dashing  from  side  to  side;  obstinate,  hopeless, 
and  always  beaten  back;  like  a  man  bewitched  within 
the  invisible  sweep  of  a  magic  circle. 


PART   III. 


"Yes!  Cat,  dog,  anything  that  can  scratch  or  bite; 
as  long  as  it  is  harmful  enough  and  mangy  enough. 
A  sick  tiger  would  make  you  happy — of  all  things. 
A  half-dead  tiger  that  you  could  weep  over  and  palm 
upon  some  poor  devil  in  your  power,  to  tend  and  nurse 
for  you.  Never  mind  the  consequences — to  the  poor 
devil.  Let  him  be  mangled  or  eaten  up  of  course! 
You  haven't  any  pity  to  spare  for  the  victims  of  your 
infernal  charity.  Not  you!  Your  tender  heart  bleeds 
only  for  what  is  poisonous  and  deadly.  I  curse  the 
day  when  you  set  your  benevolent  eyes  on  him.  I 
curse  it  .  .  ." 

**  Now  then!  Now  then!"  growled  Lingard  in 
his  moustache.  Almayer,  who  had  talked  himself  up 
to  the  choking  point,  drew  a  long  breath  and  went 
on — 

*'Yes!  It  has  been  always  so.  Always.  As  far 
back  as  I  can  remember.  Don't  you  recollect?  What 
about  that  half-starved  dog  you  brought  on  board  in 
Bankok  in  your  arms.  In  your  arms  by  ...  !  It 
went  mad  next  day  and  bit  the  serang.  You  don't 
mean  to  say  you  have  forgotten?  The  best  serang 
you  ever  had!  You  said  so  yourself  while  you  were 
helping  us  to  lash  him  down  to  the  chain-cable,  just 
before  he  died  in  his  fits.  Now,  didn't  you?  Two 
wives  and  ever  so  many  children  the  man  left.  That 
was  your  doing.  .  .  .  And  when  you  went  out  of  your 

142 


AN   OUTCAST   OF  THE  ISLANDS. 


143 


way  and  risked  your  ship  to  rescue  some  Chinamen 
from  a  water-logged  junk  in  Formosa  Straits,  that 
was  also  a  clever  piece  of  business.  Wasn't  it?  Those 
damned  Chinamen  rose  on  you  before  forty-eight 
hours.  They  were  cut-throats,  those  poor  fishermen. 
You  knew  they  were  cut-throats  before  you  made  up 
your  mind  to  run  down  on  a  lee  shore  in  a  gale  of 
wind  to  save  them.  A  mad  trick!  If  they  hadn't  been 
scoundrels — hopeless  scoundrels — you  would  not  have 
put  your  ship  in  jeopardy  for  them,  I  know.  You 
would  not  have  risked  the  lives  of  your  crew — that 
crew  you  loved  so — and  your  own  Hfe.  Wasn't  that 
fooHsh?  And,  besides,  you  were  not  honest.  Suppose 
you  had  been  drowned?  I  would  have  been  in  a  pretty 
mess  then,  left  alone  here  with  that  adopted  daughter 
of  yours.  Your  duty  was  to  myself  first.  I  married 
that  girl  because  you  promised  to  make  my  fortune. 
You  know  you  did!  And  then  three  months  after- 
wards you  go  and  do  that  mad  trick — for  a  lot  of  China- 
men too.  Chinamen !  Yon  haye  no  morality.  I  might 
have  been  ruined  for  the  sake  of  those  murderous 
scoundrels  that,  after  all,  had  to  be  driven  overboard 
after  killing  ever  so  many  of  your  crew — of  your  be- 
loved crew!-  Do  you  call  that  honest?" 

''Well,  well!"  muttered  Lingard,  chewing  nerv- 
ously the  stump  of  his  cheroot  that  had  gone  out  and 
looking  at  Almayer — who  stamped  wildly  about  the 
verandah — much_as  a  -shepherd  might  look  at  a  pet 
sheep  in  his  obedient  flock  turning  unexpectedly  upon 
him  in  enraged  revolt.  He  seemed  disconcerted,  con- 
temptuously angry  yet  somewhat  amused;  and  also  a 
little  hurt  as  if  at  some  bitter  jest  at  his  own  expense. 
Almayer  stopped  suddenly,  and  crossing  his  arms  on 
his  breast,  bent  his  body  forward  and  went  on  speak- 
ing. 

"  I  might  have  been  left  then  in  an  awkward  hole — 
all  on  account  of  your  absurd  disregard  for  your  safety 


144  AN   OUTCAST  OF   THE   ISLANDS. 

— yet  I  bore  no  grudge.  I  knew  your  weaknesses. 
But  now — when  I  think  of  it!  Now  we  are  ruined. 
Ruined!     Ruined!     My  poor  little  Nina.     Ruined!" 

He  slapped  his  thighs  smartly,  walked  w4th  small 
steps  this  way  and  that,  seized  a  chair,  planted  it  with 
a  bang  before  Lingard,  and  sat  down  staring  at  the 
old  seaman  with  haggard  eyes.  Lingard,  returning 
his  stare  steadily,  dived  slowly  into  various  pockets, 
fished  out  at  last  a  box  of  matches  and  proceeded  to 
light  his  cheroot  carefully,  rolling  it  round  and  round 
between  his  lips,  without  taking  his  gaze  for  a  moment 
ofT  the  distressed  Almayer.  Then  from  behind  a  cloud 
of  tobacco  smoke  he  said  calmly — 

"  If  you  had  been  in  trouble  as  often  as  I  have,  my 
boy,  you  wouldn't  carry  on  so.  I  have  been  ruined 
more  than  once.    Well,  here  I  am." 

**  Yes,  here  you  are,"  interrupted  Almayer.  "  Much 
good  it  is  to  me.  Had  you  been  here  a  month  ago  it 
would  have  been  of  some  use.  But  now!  .  .  .  You 
might  as  well  be  a  thousand  miles  ofif." 

*'  You  scold  like  a  drunken  fish-wife,"  said  Lingard, 
serenely.  He  got  up  and  moved  slowly  to  the  front 
rail  of  the  verandah.  The  floor  shook  and  the  whole 
house  vibrated  under  his  heavy  step.  For  a  moment 
he  stood  with  his  back  to  Almayer,  looking  out  on  the 
river  and  forest  of  the  east  bank,  then  turned  round 
and  gazed  mildly  down  upon  him. 

''It's  very  lonely  this  morning  here.  Hey?"  he 
said. 

Almayer  lifted  up  his  head. 

"Ah!  you  notice  it — don't  you?  I  should  think 
it  is  lonely!  Yes,  Captain  Lingard,  your  day  is  over 
in  Sambir.  Only  a  month  ago  this  verandah  would 
have  been  full  of  people  coming  to  greet  you.  Fellows 
would  be  coming  up  those  steps  grinning  and  salaam- 
ing— to  you  and  to  me.  But  our  day  is  over.  And 
not  by  my  fault  either.    You  can't  say  that.     It's  all 


AN  OUTCAST   OF   THE   ISLANDS.  145 

the  doing  of  that  pet  rascal  of  yours.  Ah!  He  is  a 
beauty!  You  should  have  seen^him  leading  that  hell- 
ish crowd.  You  would  have  been  proud  of  your  old 
favourite." 

"  Smart  fellow  that,"  muttered  Lingard,  thought- 
fully.    Almayer  jumped  up  with  a  shriek. 

'*  And  that's  all  you  have  to  say!  Smart  fellow! 
OLord!" 

"  Don't  make  a  show  of  yourself.  Sit  down.  Let's 
talk  quietly.  I  want  to  know  all  about  it.  So  he 
led?" 

"  He  was  the  soul  of  the  whole  thing.  He  piloted 
Abdulla's  ship  in.  He  ordered  everything  and  every- 
body," said  Almayer,  who  sat  down  again,  with  a  re- 
signed air. 

"  When  did  it  happen — exactly?" 

''  On  the  sixteenth  I  heard  the  first  rumours  of 
Abdulla's  ship  being  in  the  river;  a  thing  I  refused 
to  believe  at  first.  Next  day  I  could  not  doubt  any 
more.  There  was  a  great  council  held  openly  in  La- 
kamba's  place  where  almost  everybody  in  Sambir  at- 
tended. On  the  eighteenth  the  Lord  of  the  Isles  was 
anchored  in  Sambir  reach,  abreast  of  my  house.  Let's 
see.    Six  weeks  to-day,  exactly." 

"  And  all  that  happened  like  this?  All  of  a  sudden. 
You  never  heard  anything — no  warning.  Nothing. 
Never  had  an  idea  that  something  was  up?  Come! 
Almayer." 

"  Heard!  Yes,  I  used  to  hear  something  every 
dav.  Mostly  lies.  Is  there  anything  else  in  Sam- 
bir? " 

"  You  might  not  have  believed  them,"  observed 
Lingard.  "  In  fact  you  ought  not  to  have  believed 
everything  that  was  told  to  you  as  if  you  had  been  a 
green  hand  on  his  first  voyage." 

Almayer  moved  in  his  chair  uneasily. 

"  That  scoundrel  came  here  one  day,"  he  said. 


146  AN  OUTCAST  OF  THE   ISLANDS. 

"  He  had  been  away  from  the  house  for  a  couple  oi 
months  with  that  woman.  I  only  heard  about  him  now 
and  then  from  Patalolo's  people  when  they  came  over. 
Well  one  day,  about  noon,  he  appeared  in  this  court- 
yard, as  if  he  had  been  jerked  up  from  hell — where  he 
belongs." 

Lingard  took  his  cheroot  out,  and,  with  his  mouth 
full  of  white  smoke  that  oozed  out  through  his  parted 
lips,  listened,  attentive.  After  a  short  pause  Almayer 
went  on,  looking  at  the  floor  moodily — 

"  I  must  say  he  looked  awful.  Had  a  bad  bout  of 
the  ague  probably.  The  left  shore  is  very  unhealthy. 
Strange  that  only  the  breadth  of  the  river  .  .  ." 

He  dropped  ofif  into  deep  thoughtfulness  as  if  he 
had  forgotten  his  grievances  in  a  bitter  meditation 
upon  the  unsanitary  condition  of  the  virgin  forests  on 
the  left  bank.  Lingard  took  this  opportunity  to  expel 
the  smoke  in  a  mighty  expiration  and  threw  the  stump 
of  his  cheroot  over  his  shoulder. 

"  Go  on,"  he  said,  after  a  while.  "  He  came  to  see 
you  .  .  ." 

''  But  it  wasn't  unhealthy  enough  to  finish  him, 
worse  luck !  "  went  on  Almayer,  rousing  himself, 
"  and,  as  I  said,  he  turned  up  here  with  his  brazen 
impudence.  He  bullied  me,  he  threatened  vaguely. 
He  wanted  to  scare  me,  to  blackmail  me.  Me!  And, 
by  heaven!  he  said  you  would  approve.  You!  Can 
you  conceive  such  impudence?  I  couldn't  exactly 
make  out  what  he  was  driving  at.  Had  I  known,  I 
would  have  approved  him.  Yes!  With  a  bang  on 
the  head.  But  how  could  I  guess  that  he  knew  enough 
to  pilot  a  ship  through  the  entrance  you  always  said 
was  so  difficult.  And,  after  all,  that  was  the  only  dan- 
ger. I  could  deal  with  anybody  here — but  when  Ab- 
dulla  came.  .  .  .  That  barque  of  his  is  armed.  He 
carries  twelve  brass  six-pounders,  and  about  thirty 
men.     Desperate  beggars.     Sumatra  men,  from  Deli 


AN   OUTCAST   OF   THE   ISLANDS. 


14/ 


and  Acheen.     Fight  all  day  and  ask  for  more  in  the 
evening.    That  kind." 

*'  I  know,  I  know,"  said  Lingard,  impatiently. 

**  Of  course,  then,  they  were  cheeky  as  much  as 
you  please  after  he  anchored  abreast  of  our  jetty. 
Willenis  brought  her  up  himself  in  the  best  berth.  I 
could  see  him  from  this  verandah  standing  forward, 
together  with  the  half-caste  master.  And  that  woman 
was  there  too.  Close  to  him.  I  heard  they  took  her 
on  board  off  Lakamba's  place.  Willems  said  he  would 
not  go  higher  without  her.  Stormed  and  raged. 
Frightened  them,  I  believe.  Abdulla  had  to  interfere. 
She  came  off  alone  in  a  canoe,  and  no  sooner  on  deck 
than  she  fell  at  his  feet  before  all  hands,  embraced  his 
knees,  wept,  raved,  begged  his  pardon.  Why?  I  won- 
der. Everybody  in  Sambir  is  talking  of  it.  They  never 
heard  tell  or  saw  anything  like  it.  I  have  all  this  from 
Ali,  who  goes  about  in  the  settlement  and  brings  me 
the  news.  I  had  better  know  what  is  going  on — hadn't 
I?  From  what  I  can  make  out,  they — he  and  that 
woman — are  looked  upon  as  something  mysterious — 
beyond  comprehension.  Some  think  them  mad.  They 
live  alone  with  an  old  woman  in  a  house  outside  La- 
kamba's campong  and  are  greatly  respected — or 
feared,  I  should  say  rather.  At  least,  he  is.  He  is  very 
violent.  She  knows  nobody,  sees  nobody,  will  speak 
to  nobody  but  him.  Never  leaves  him  for  a  moment. 
It's  the  talk  of  the  place.  There  are  other  rumours. 
From  what  I  hear  I  suspect  that  Lakamba  and  Ab- 
dulla are  tired  of  him.  There's  also  talk  of  him  going 
away  in  the  Lord  of  the  Isles — when  she  leaves  here 
for  the  southward— as  a  kind  of  Abdulla's  agent.  At 
any  rate,  he  must  take  the  ship  out.  The  half-caste  is 
not  equal  to  it  as  yet." 

Lingard,  who  had  listened  absorbed  till  then,  began 
now  to  walk  with  measured  steps.  Almayer  ceased 
talking,  and  followed  him  with  his  eyes  as  he  paced 


,148  AN   OUTCAST   OF   THE   ISLANDS. 

Up  and  down  with  a  quarter-deck  swing,  tormenting 
>?nd  twisting  his  long  white  beard,  his  face  perplexed 
and  thoughtful. 

''  So  he  came  to  you  first  of  all,  did  he?"  asked 
Lingard,  without  stopping. 

"  Yes.  I  told  you  so.  He  did  come.  Came  to 
extort  money,  goods — I  don't  know  what  else.  Want- 
ed to  set  up  as  a  trader — the  swine!  I  kicked  his  hat 
into  the  courtyard,  and  he  went  after  it,  and  that  was 
the  last  of  him  till  he  showed  up  with  Abdulla.  How 
could  I  know  that  he  could  do  harm  in  that  way?  Or 
in  any  way  at  that !  Any  local  rising  I  could  put  down 
easy  with  my  own  men  and  with  Patalolo's  help." 

''Oh!  yes.  Patalolo.  No  good.  Eh?  Did  you 
try  him  at  all?" 

''  Didn't  I !  "  exclaimed  Almayer.  "  I  went  to  see 
him  myself  on  the  twelfth.  That  was  four  days  before 
Abdulla  entered  the  river.  In  fact,  same  day  Willems 
kried  to  get  at  me.  I  did  feel  a  little  uneasy  then.  Pata- 
Jolo  assured  me  that  there  was  no  human  being  that 
did  not  love  me  in  Sambir.  Looked  as  wise  as  an  owl. 
Told  me  not  to  listen  to  the  lies  of  wicked  people  from 
down  the  river.  He  was  alluding  to  that  man  Bulangi, 
who  lives  up  the  sea  reach,  and  who  had  sent  me  word 
that  a  strange  ship  was  anchored  outside — which,  of 
course,  I  repeated  to  Patalolo.  He  would  not  believe. 
Kept  on  mumbling  *  No !  No !  No ! '  like  an  old  par- 
rot, his  head  all  of  a  tremble,  all  beslobbered  with 
betel-nut  juice.  I  thought  there  was  something  queer 
about  him.  Seemed  so  restless,  and  as  if  in  a  hurry  to 
get  rid  of  me.  Well.  Next  day  that  one-eyed  male- 
factor who  lives  with  Lakamba — what's  his  name — 
Babalatchi,  put  in  an  appearance  here.  Came  about 
mid-day,  casually  like,  and  stood  there  on  this  veran- 
dah chatting  about  one  thing  and  another.  Asking 
when  I  expected  you,  and  so  on.  Then,  incidentally, 
he  mentioned  that  they — his  master  and  himself — were 


AN  OUTCAST   OF   THE   ISLANDS.  149 

very  much  bothered  by  a  ferocious  white  man — my 
friend — who  was  hanging  about  that  woman — Omar's 
daughter.  Asked  my  advice.  Very  deferential  and 
proper.  I  told  him  the  white  man  was  not  my  friend, 
and  that  they  had  better  kick  him  out.  Whereupon 
he  went  away  salaaming,  and  protesting  his  friendship 
and  his  master's  goodwill.  Of  course  I  know  now  the 
infernal  nigger  came  to  spy  and  to  talk  over  some  of 
my  men.  Anyway,  eight  were  missing  at  the  evening 
muster.  Then  I  took  alarm.  Did  not  dare  to  leave 
my  house  unguarded.  You  know  what  my  wife  is, 
don't  you?  And  I  did  not  care  to  take  the  child  with 
me — it  being  late — so  I  sent  a  message  to  Patalolo  to 
say  that  we  ought  to  consult ;  that  there  were  rumours 
and  uneasiness  in  the  settlement.  Do  you  know  what 
answer  I  got?  " 

Lingard  stopped  short  in  his  walk  before  Almayer, 
who  went  on,  after  an  impressive  pause,  with  growing 
animation. 

"  Ali  brought  it:  '  The  Rajah  sends  a  friend's  greet- 
ing, and  does  not  understand  the  message.'  That  was 
all.  Not  a  word  more  could  Ali  get  out  of  him.  I 
could  see  that  Ali  was  pretty  well  scared.  He  hung 
about,  arranging  my  hammock — one  thing  and  an- 
other. Then  just  before  going  away  he  mentioned 
that  the  water-gate  of  the  Rajah's  place  was  heavily 
barred,  but  that  he  could  see  only  very  few  men  about 
the  courtyard.  Finally  he  said,  '  There  is  darkness  in 
our  Rajah's  house,  but  no  sleep.  Only  darkness  and 
fear  and  the  wailing  of  women.'  Cheerful,  wasn't  it? 
It  made  me  feel  cold  down  my  back  somehow.  After 
Ali  slipped  away  I  stood  here — by  this  table,  and  lis- 
tened to  the  shouting  and  drumming  in  the  settlement. 
Racket  enough  for  twenty  weddings.  It  was  a  little 
past  midnight  then." 

Again  Almayer  stopped  in  his  narrative  with  an 
abrupt  shutting  of  lips,  as  if  he  had  said  all  that  there 


I50 


AN   OUTCAST   OF   THE  ISLANDS. 


was  to  tell,  and  Lingard  stood  staring  at  him,  pensive 
and  silent.  A  big  bluebottle  fly  flew  in  recklessly  into 
the  cool  verandah,  and  darted  with  loud  buzzing  be- 
tween the  two  men.  Lingard  struck  at  it  with  hia 
hat.  The  fly  swerved,  and  Almayer  dodged  his  head 
out  of  the  way.  Then  Lingard  aimed  another  ineffec- 
tual blow;  Almayer  jumped  up  and  waved  his  arms 
about.  The  fly  buzzed  desperately,  and  the  vibration 
of  minute  wings  sounded  in  the  peace  of  the  early 
morning  like  a  far-ofif  string  orchestra  accompanying 
the  hollow,  determined  stamping  of  the  two  men,  who, 
with  heads  thrown  back  and  arms  gyrating  on  high, 
or  again  bending  low  with  infuriated  lunges,  were  in- 
tent upon  killing  the  intruder.  But  suddenly  the  buz? 
died  out  in  a  thin  thrill  away  in  the  open  space  of  the 
courtyard,  leaving  Lingard  and  Almayer  standing  face 
to  face  in  the  fresh  silence  of  the  young  day,  looking 
very  puzzled  and  idle,  their  arms  hanging  uselessly 
by  their  sides — like  men  disheartened  by  some  por- 
tentous failure. 

*'  Look  at  that!  "  muttered  Lingard.  ''  Got  away 
after  all." 

"  Nuisance,"  said  Almayer  in  the  same  tone.  "  Riv- 
erside is  overrun  with  them.  This  house  is  badly  placed 
.  .  mosquitos  .  .  .  and  these  big  flies  .  .  .  last  week 
stung  Nina  .  .  .  been  ill  four  days  .  .  .  poor  child. 
...  I  wonder  what  such  damned  things  are  mad6 
for!" 


II. 

After  a  long  silence,  during  which  Almayer  had 
moved  towards  the  table  and  sat  down,  his  head  be- 
tween his  hands,  staring  straight  before  him,  Lingard, 
who  had  recommenced  walking,  cleared  his  throat  an<J 
said — 


AN  OUTCAST   OF  THE   ISLANDS.  151 

"  What  was  it  you  were  saying?  " 

"  Ah!  Yes!  You  should  have  seen  this  settlement 
that  night.  I  don't  think  anybody  went  to  bed.  I 
walked  down  to  the  point,  and  could  see  then.  They 
had  a  big  bonfire  in  the  palm  grove,  and  the  talk  went 
on  there  till  the  morning.  When  I  came  back  here 
and  sat  in  the  dark  verandah  in  this  quiet  house  I  felt 
so  frightfully  lonely  that  I  stole  in  and  took  the  child 
out  of  her  cot  and  brought  her  here  into  my  ham- 
mock. If  it  hadn't  been  for  her  I  am  sure  I  would 
have  gone  mad;  I  felt  so  utterly  alone  and  helpless. 
Remember,  I  hadn't  heard  from  you  for  four  months. 
Didn't  know  whether  you  were  alive  or  dead.  Pata- 
lolo  would  have  nothing  to  do  with  me.  My  own  men 
were  deserting  me  like  rats  do  a  sinking  hulk.  That 
was  a  black  night  for  me,  Captain  Lingard.  A  black 
night  as  I  sat  here  not  knowing  what  would  happen 
next.  They  were  so  excited  and  rowdy  that  I  really 
feared  they  would  come  and  burn  the  house  over  my 
head.  I  went  and  brought  my  revolver.  Laid  it  loaded 
on  the  table.  There  were  such  awful  yells  now  and 
then.  Luckily  the  child  slept  through  it,  and  seeing 
her  so  pretty  and  peaceful  steadied  me  somehow. 
Couldn't  beHeve  there  was  any  violence  in  this  world, 
looking  at  her  lying  so  quiet  and  so  unconscious  of 
what  went  on.  But  it  was  very  hard.  Everything  was 
at  an  end.  You  must  understand  that  on  that  night 
there  was  no  government  in  Sambir.  Nothing  to  re- 
strain those  fellows.  Patalolo  had  collapsed.  I  was 
abandoned  by  my  own  people,  and  all  that  lot  could 
vent  their  spite  on  me  if  they  wanted.  They  know  no 
gratitude.  How  many  times  haven't  I  saved  this  set- 
tlement from  starvation.  Absolute  starvation.  Only 
three  months  ago  I  distributed  again  a  lot  of  rice  on 
credit.  There  was  nothing  to  eat  in  this  infernal  place. 
They  came  begging  on  their  knees.  There  isn't  a  man 
in  Sambir,  big  or  little,  who  is  not  in  debt  to  Lingard 


152 


AN   OUTCAST   OF   THE   ISLANDS. 


&  Co.  Not  one.  You  ought  to  be  satisfied.  You 
always  said  that  was  the  right  poHcy  for  us.  Well,  I 
carried  it  out.  Ah!  Captain  Lingard,  a  policy  like 
that  should  be  backed  by  loaded  rifles  .  .  ." 

"  You  had  them!  "  exclaimed  Lingard  in  the  midst 
of  his  promenade,  that  went  on  more  rapid  as  Almayer 
talked:  the  headlong  tramp  of  a  man  hurrying  on  to 
do  something  violent.  The  verandah  was  full  of  dust, 
oppressive  and  choking,  which  rose  under  the  old 
seaman's  feet,  and  made  Almayer  cough  again  and 
again. 

''  Yes,  I  had!  Twenty.  And  not  a  finger  to  pull 
a  trigger.  It's  easy  to  talk,"  he  spluttered,  his  face  very 
red. 

Lingard  dropped  into  a  chair,  and  leaned  back  with 
one  hand  stretched  out  at  length  upon  the  table,  the 
other  thrown  over  the  back  of  his  seat.  The  dust  set- 
tled, and  the  sun  surging  above  the  forest  flooded  the 
verandah  with  a  clear  light.  Almayer  got  up  and 
busied  himself  in  lowering  the  split  rattan  screens  that 
hung  between  the  columns  of  the  verandah. 

''Phew!"  said  Lingard,  "it  will  be  a  hot  day. 
That's  right,  my  boy.  Keep  the  sun  out.  We  don't 
want  to  be  roasted  alive  here." 

Almayer  came  back,  sat  down,  and  spoke  very 
calmly — 

"  In  the  morning  I  went  across  to  see  Patalolo.  I 
took  the  child  with  me,  of  course.  I  found  the  water- 
gate  barred,  and  had  to  walk  round  through  the  bushes. 
Patalolo  received  me  lying  on  the  floor,  in  the  dark, 
all  the  shutters  closed.  I  could  get  nothing  out  of  him 
but  lamentations  and  groans.  He  said  you  must  be 
dead.  That  Lakamba  was  coming  now  with  Abdulla's 
guns  to  kill  everybody.  Said  he  did  not  mind  being 
killed,  as  he  was  an  old  man,  but  that  the  wish  of  his 
heart  was  to  make  a  pilgrimage.  He  was  tired  of  men's 
ingratitude — he  had  no  heirs — he  wanted  to  go  to 


AN  OUTCAST  OF   THE   ISLANDS.  153 

Mecca  and  die  there.  He  would  ask  AbduUa  to  let 
him  go.  Then  he  abused  Lakamba — between  sobs — 
and  you,  a  little.  You  prevented  him  from  asking  for 
a  flag  that  would  have  been  respected — he  was  right 
there — and  now  when  his  enemies  were  strong  he  was 
weak,  and  you  were  not  there  to  help  him.  When  I 
tried  to  put  some  heart  into  him,  telling  him  he  had 
four  big  guns — you  know  the  brass  six-pounders  you 
left  here  last  year — and  that  I  would  get  powder,  and 
that,  perhaps,  together  we  could  make  head  against 
Lakamba,  he  simply  howled  at  me.  No  matter  which 
way  he  turned — he  shrieked — the  white  men  would  be 
the  death  of  him,  while  he  wanted  only  to  be  a  pilgrim 
and  be  at  peace.  My  belief  is,"  added  Almayer,  after 
a  short  pause,  and  fixing  a  dull  stare  upon  Lingard, 
"  that  the  old  fool  saw  this  thing  coming  for  a  long 
time,  and  was  not  only  too  frightened  to  do  anything 
himself,  but  actually  too  scared  to  let  you  or  me  know 
of  his  suspicions.  Another  of  your  particular  pets! 
Well!    You  have  a  lucky  hand,  I  must  say!" 

Lingard  struck  a  sudden  blow  on  the  table  with  his 
clenched  hand.  There  was  a  sharp  crack  of  splitting 
wood.  Almayer  started  up  violently,  then  fell  back 
in  his  chair  and  looked  at  the  table. 

*'  There!  "  he  said  moodily,  "  you  don't  know  your 
own  strength.  This  table  is  completely  ruined.  The 
only  table  I  had  been  able  to  save  from  my  wife.  By 
and  by  I  will  have  to  eat  squatting  on  the  floor  like  a 
native." 

Lingard  laughed  heartily.  "  Well  then,  don't  nag 
at  me  like  a  woman  at  a  drunken  husband!  "  He  be- 
came very  serious  after  awhile,  and  added,  '*  If  it  hadn't 
been  for  the  loss  of  the  Flash  I  would  have  been  here 
three  months  ago,  and  all  would  have  been  well.  No 
use  crying  over  that.  Don't  you  be  uneasy,  Kaspar. 
We  will  have  everything  ship-shape  here  in  a  very 
short  time." 


154 


AN   OUTCAST   OF   THE   ISLANDS. 


''  What?  You  don't  mean  to  expel  Abdulla  out  of 
here  by  force!    I  tell  you,  you  can't." 

"Not  I!"  exclaimed  Lingard.  *' That's  all  over, 
I  am  afraid.  Great  pity.  They  will  suffer  for  it.  He 
will  squeeze  them.  Great  pity.  Blast  it!  I  feel  so  sorry 
for  them  that  if  I  had  the  Flash  here  I  would  try  force. 
Eh!  Why  not?  However,  the  poor  Flash  is  gone, 
and  there  is  the  end  of  it.  Poor  old  hooker.  Hey,  Al- 
mayer?  You  made  a  voyage  or  two  with  me.  Wasn't 
she  a  sweet  craft?  Could  make  her  do  anything  but 
talk.  She  was  better  than  a  wafe  to  me.  Never  scolded. 
Hey?  .  .  .  And  to  think  that  it  should  come  to  this. 
That  I  should  leave  her  poor  old  bones  sticking  on  a 
reef  as  though  I  had  been  a  blasted  fool  of  a  southern- 
going  man  who  must  have  half  a  mile  of  water  under 
his  keel  to  be  safe!  Well!  well!  It's  only  those  who 
do  nothing  that  make  no  mistakes,  I  suppose.  But  it's 
hard.    Hard." 

He  nodded  his  head  sadly,  with  his  eyes  on  the 
ground.  Almayer  looked  at  him  with  growing  indig- 
nation. 

"  Upon  my  word,  you  are  heartless,"  he  burst  out; 
*'  perfectly  heartless — and  selfish.  It  does  not  seem  to 
strike  you — in  all  that — that  in  losing  your  ship — by 
your  recklessness,  I  am  sure — you  ruin  me — us,  and 
my  little  Nina.  What's  going  to  become  of  me  and 
of  her?  That's  what  I  want  to  know.  You  brought 
me  here,  made  me  your  partner,  and  now,  when  every- 
thing is  gone  to  the  devil — through  your  fault,  mind 
you — you  talk  about  your  ship  .  .  .  ship!  You  can 
get  another.  But  here.  This  trade.  That's  gone  now, 
thanks  to  Willems.  .  .  .  Your  dear  Willems!" 

"  Never  you  mind  about  Willems.  I  will  look  after 
him,"  said  Lingard,  severely.  "  And  as  to  the  trade 
...  I  will  make  your  fortune  yet,  my  boy.  Never  fear. 
Have  you  got  any  cargo  for  the  schooner  that  brought 
me  here?" 


AN  OUTCAST  OF  THE  ISLANDS.  155 

"  The  shed  is  full  of  rattans,"  answered  Almayer, 
"  and  I  have  about  eighty  tons  of  guttah  in  the  well. 
The  last  lot  I  ever  will  have,  no  doubt,"  he  added,  bit- 
terly. 

''  So,  after  all,  there  was  no  robbery.  You've  lost 
nothing  actually.  Well,  then,  you  must  .  .  .  Hallo! 
What's  the  matter!  .  .  .  Here!  .  .  ." 

"Robbery!  No!"  screamed  Almayer,  throwing 
up  his  hands. 

He  fell  back  in  the  chair  and  his  face  became  pur- 
ple. A  little  white  foam  appeared  on  his  Hps  and 
trickled  down  his  chin,  while  he  lay  back,  showing 
the  whites  of  his  upturned  eyes.  When  he  came  to 
himself  he  saw  Lingard  standing  over  him,  with  an 
empty  water-chatty  in  his  hand. 

"  You  had  a  fit  of  some  kind,"  said  the  old  seaman 
with  much  concern.  "  What  is  it?  You  did  give  me 
a  fright.    So  very  sudden." 

Almayer,  his  hair  all  wet  and  stuck  to  his  head,  as 
if  he  had  been  diving,  sat  up  and  gasped. 

"Outrage!     A  fiendish  outrage.     I  .  .  ." 

Lingard  put  the  chatty  on  the  table  and  looked  at 
him  in  attentive  silence.  Almayer  passed  his  hand 
over  his  forehead  and  went  on  in  an  unsteady  tone: 

"  When  I  remember  that,  I  lose  all  control,"  he 
said.  "  I  told  you  he  anchored  Abdulla's  ship  abreast 
our  jetty,  but  over  to  the  other  shore,  near  the  Rajah's 
place.  The  ship  was  surrounded  with  boats.  From 
here  it  looked  as  if  she  had  been  landed  on  a  raft. 
Every  dugout  in  Sambir  was  there.  Through  my  glass 
I  could  distinguish  the  faces  of  people  on  the  poop — 
Abdulla,  Willems,  Lakamba — everybody.  That  old 
cringing  scoundrel  Sahamin  was  there.  I  could  see 
quite  plain.  There  seemed  to  be  much  talk  and  dis- 
cussion. Finally  I  saw  a  ship's  boat  lowered.  Some 
Arab  got  into  her,  and  the  boat  went  towards  Pata- 
lolo's  landing-place.  It  seems  they  had  been  refused 
iz 


156  AN   OUTCAST   OF   THE   ISLANDS. 

admittance — so  they  say.  I  think  myself  that  the 
water-gate  was  not  unbarred  quick  enough  to  please 
the  exalted  messenger.  At  any  rate  I  saw  the  boat 
come  back  almost  directly.  I  was  looking  on,  rather 
interested,  when  I  saw  Willems  and  some  more  go 
forward — very  busy  about  something  there.  That 
woman  was  also  amongst  them.    Ah,  that  woman. . . ." 

Almayer  choked,  and  seemed  on  the  point  of  hav- 
ing a  relapse,  but  by  a  violent  efifort  regained  a  com- 
parative composure. 

''All  of  a  sudden,"  he  continued — "bang!  They 
fired  a  shot  into  Patalolo's  gate,  and  before  I  had  time 
to  catch  my  breath — I  was  startled,  you  may  believe 
— they  sent  another  and  burst  the  gate  open.  Where- 
upon, I  suppose,  they  thought  they  had  done  enough 
for  a  while,  and  probably  felt  hungry,  for  a  feast  began 
aft.  Abdulla  sat  amongst  them  like  an  idol,  cross- 
legged,  his  hands  on  his  lap.  He's  too  great  altogether 
to  eat  when  others  do,  but  he  presided,  you  see.  Wil- 
lems kept  on  dodging  about  forward,  aloof  from  the 
crowd,  and  looking  at  my  house  through  the  ship's 
long  glass.  I  could  not  resist  it.  I  shook  my  fist  at 
him." 

*'  Just  so,"  said  Lingard,  gravely.  *'  That  was  the 
thing  to  do,  of  course.  If  you  can't  fight  a  man  the 
best  thing  is  to  exasperate  him." 

Almayer  waved  his  hand  in  a  superior  manner,  and 
continued,  unmoved: 

"  You  may  say  what  you  like.  You  can't  realise 
my  feelings.  He  saw  me,  and,  with  his  eye  still  at  the 
small  end  of  the  glass,  lifted  his  arm  as  if  answering 
a  hail.  I  thought  my  turn  to  be  shot  at  would  come 
next  after  Patalolo,  so  I  ran  up  the  Union  Jack  to  the 
flagstaff  in  the  yard,  I  had  no  other  protection.  There 
were  only  three  men  besides  Ali  that  stuck  to  me — 
three  cripples,  for  that  matter,  too  sick  to  get  away. 
I  would  have  fought  singlehanded,  I  think,  I  was  that 


AN   OUTCAST  OF   THE   ISLANDS. 


157 


angry,  but  there  was  the  child.    What  to  do  with  her? 
Couldn't  send  her  up  the  river  with  the  mother.    You 
know  I  can't  trust  my  wife.     I  decided  to  keep  very 
quiet,  but  to  let  nobody  land  on  our  shore.     Private 
property,  that;  under  a  deed  from  Patalolo.     I  was 
within  my  right — wasn't  I?     The  morning  was  very 
quiet.    After  they  had  a  feed  on  board  the  barque  with 
Abdulla  most  of  them  went  home;  only  the  big  people 
remained.     Towards  three  o'clock  Sahamin   crossed 
alone  in  a  small  canoe.     I  went  down  on  our  wharf 
with  my  gun  to  speak  to  him,  but  didn't  let  him  land. 
The  old  hypocrite  said  Abdulla  sent  greetings  and 
wished  to  talk  with  me  on  business ;  would  I  come  on 
board?    I  said  no;  I  would  not.    Told  him  that  Ab- 
dulla may  write  and  I  would  answer,  but  no  interview, 
neither  on  board  his  ship  or  on  shore.    I  also  said  that 
if  anybody  attempted  to  land  within  my  fences  I  would 
shoot — no  matter  whom.    On  that  he  lifted  his  hands 
to  heaven,  scandalised,  and  then  paddled  away  pretty 
smartly — to  report,  I  suppose.     An  hour  or  so  after- 
wards I  saw  Willems  land  a  boat  party  at  the  Rajah's. 
It  was  very  quiet.     Not  a  shot  was  fired,  and  there 
was  hardly  any  shouting.     They  tumbled  those  brass 
guns  you  presented  to  Patalolo  last  year  down  the 
bank  into  the  river.     It's  deep  there  close  to.     The 
channel  runs  that  way,  you  know\     About  five,  Wil- 
lems went  back  on  board,  and  I  saw  him  join  Abdulla 
by  the  wheel,  aft.    He  talked  a  lot,  swinging  his  arms 
about — seemed    to    explain    things — pointed    at    my 
house,  then  down  the  reach.    Finally,  just  before  sun- 
set, they  hove  upon  the  cable  and  dredged  the  ship 
down  nearly  half  a  mile  to  the  junction  of  the  two 
branches  of  the  river — where  she  is  now,  as  you  might 
have  seen." 

Lingard  nodded. 

"  That  evening,  after  dark — I  am  informed — Ab- 
dulla landed  for  the  first  time  in  Sambir.     He  was 


158 


AN   OUTCAST  OF   THE   ISLANDS. 


entertained  in  Sahamin's  house.  I  sent  Ali  to  the  set- 
tlement for  news.  He  returned  about  nine,  and  re- 
ported that  Patalolo  was  sitting  on  Abdulla's  left  hand 
before  Sahamin's  fire.  There  was  a  great  council.  Ali 
seemed  to  think  that  Patalolo  was  a  prisoner,  but  he 
was  wrong  there.  They  did  the  trick  very  neatly.  Be- 
fore midnight  everything  was  arranged  as  I  can  make 
out.  Patalolo  went  back  to  his  demolished  stockade, 
escorted  by  a  dozen  boats  with  torches.  It  appears 
he  begged  Abdulla  to  let  him  have  a  passage  in  the 
Lord  of  the  Isles  to  Penang.  From  there  he  would 
go  to  Mecca.  The  firing  business  was  alluded  to  as  a 
mistake.  No  doubt  it  was  in  a  sense.  Patalolo  never 
meant  resisting.  So  he  is  going  as  soon  as  the  ship 
is  ready  for  sea.  He  went  on  board  next  day  with 
three  women  and  half  a  dozen  fellows  as  old  as  himself. 
By  Abdulla's  orders  he  was  received  with  a  salute  of 
seven  guns,  and  he  has  been  living  on  board  ever  since 
— five  weeks.  I  doubt  whether  he  will  leave  the  river 
alive.  At  any  rate  he  won't  live  to  reach  Penang.  La- 
kamba  took  over  all  his  goods,  and  gave  him  a  draft 
on  Abdulla's  house,  payable  in  Penang.  He  is  bound 
to  die  before  he  gets  there.    Don't  you  see!  " 

He  sat  silent  for  awhile  in  dejected  meditation,  then 
went  on: 

"  Of  course  there  were  several  rows  during  the 
night.  Various  fellows  took  the  opportunity  of  the 
unsettled  state  of  affairs  to  pay  off  old  scores  and  set- 
tle old  grudges.  I  passed  the  night  in  that  chair  there, 
dozing  uneasily.  Now  and  then  there  would  be  a  great 
tumult  and  yelling;-  which  would  make  m.e  sit  up  re- 
volver in  hand.  However,  nobody  was  killed.  A  few 
broken  heads — that's  all.  Early  in  the  morning  Wil- 
Icms  caused  them  to  make  a  fresh  move  which  I  must 
say  surprised  me  not  a  little.  As  soon  as  there  was 
daylight  they  busied  themselves  in  setting  up  a  flag- 
pole on  the  open  space  at  the  other  end  of  the  settle- 


AN  OUTCAST  OF   THE   ISLANDS. 


159 


ment;  where  Abdulla  is  having  his  houses  built  now. 
Shortly  after  sunrise  there  was  a  great  gathering  at 
the  flag-pole.  All  went  there.  Willems  was  standing 
leaning  against  the  mast,  one  arm  over  that  woman's 
shoulders.  They  had  brought  an  armchair  for  Pata- 
lolo,  and  Lakamba  stood  on  the  right  hand  of  the  old 
man,  who  made  a  speech.  Everybody  in  Sambir  was 
there:  women,  slaves,  children — everybody!  Then 
Patalolo  spoke.  He  said  that  by  the  mercy  of  the 
Most  High  he  was  going  on  a  Pilgrimage.  The  dear- 
est wish  of  his  heart  was  to  be  accomplished.  Then, 
turning  to  Lakamba,  he  begged  him  to  rule  justly  dur- 
ing his — Patalolo's — absence.  There  was  a  bit  of  play- 
acting there.  Lakamba  said  he  was  unworthy  of  the 
honourable  burden,  and  Patalolo  insisted.  Poor  old 
fool!  It  must  have  been  bitter  to  him.  They  made 
him  actually  entreat  that  scoundrel.  Fancy  a  man 
compelled  to  beg  of  a  robber  to  despoil  him!  But  the 
old  Rajah  was  so  frightened.  Anyway,  he  did  it,  and 
Lakamba  accepted  at  last.  Then  Willems  made  a 
speech  to  the  crowd.  Said  that  on  his  way  to  the  west 
the  Rajah — he  meant  Patalolo — would  see  the  Great 
White  Ruler  in  Batavia  and  obtain  his  protection  for 
Sambir.  Meantime,  he  went  on,  I,  an  Orang  Blanda 
and  your  friend,  hoist  the  flag  under  the  shadow  of 
which  there  is  safety.  With  that  he  ran  up  a  Dutch 
flag  to  the  mast-head.  It  was  made  hurriedly,  during 
the  night,  of  cotton  stufTs,  and,  being  heavy,  hung 
down  the  mast,  while  the  crowd  stared.  Ali  told  me 
there  was  a  great  sigh  of  surprise,  but  not  a  word  was 
spoken  till  Lakamba  advanced  and  proclaimed  in  a 
loud  voice  that  during  all  that  day  every  one  passing 
by  the  flagstaff  must  uncover  his  head  and  salaam  be- 
fore the  emblem." 

''  But,  hang  it  all!  "  exclaimed  Lingard — "  Abdulla 
is  British!" 

"  Abdulla  wasn't  there  at  all — did  not  go  on  shore 


l6o  AN   OUTCAST  OF   THE   ISLANDS. 

that  day.  Yet  Ali,  who  has  his  wits  about  him,  no- 
ticed that  the  space  where  the  crowd  stood  was  under 
the  guns  of  the  Lord  of  the  Isles.  They  had  put  a  coir 
warp  ashore,  and  gave  the  barque  a  cant  in  the  current, 
so  as  to  bring  the  broadside  to  bear  on  the  flagstaff. 
Clever!  Eh?  But  nobody  dreamt  of  resistance. 
When  they  recovered  from  the  surprise  there  was  a 
little  quiet  jeering,  and  Bahassoen  abused  Lakamba 
violently  till  one  of  Lakamba's  men  hit  him  on  the 
head  with  a  staff.  Frightful  crack,  I  am  told.  Then 
they  left  off  jeering.  Meantime  Patalolo  went  away, 
and  Lakamba  sat  in  the  chair  at  the  foot  of  the  flag- 
staff, while  the  crowd  surged  around,  as  if  they  could 
not  make  up  their  minds  to  go.  Suddenly  there  was 
a  great  noise  behind  Lakamba's  chair.  It  was  that 
woman,  who  went  for  Willems.  Ali  says  she  was  like 
a  wild  beast,  but  he  twisted  her  wrist  and  made  her 
grovel  in  the  dust.  Nobody  knows  exactly  what  it 
was  about.  Some  say  it  was  about  that  flag.  He  car- 
ried her  off,  flung  her  into  a  canoe,  and  went  on  board 
Abdulla's  ship.  After  that  Sahamin  was  the  first  to 
salaam  to  the  flag.  Others  followed  suit.  Before  noon 
everything  was  quiet  in  the  settlement,  and  Ali  came 
back  and  told  me  all  this." 

Almayer  drew  a  long  breath.  Lingard  stretched 
out  his  legs. 

"  Go  on!  "  he  said. 

Almayer  seemed  to  struggle  with  himself.  At  last 
he  spluttered  out: 

"  The  hardest  is  to  tell  yet.  The  most  unheard-of 
thing!    An  outrage!    A  fiendish  outrage!" 


AN   OUTCAST   OF   THE   ISLANDS.  i6l 


III. 


"  Well !  Let's  know  all  about  it.  I  can't  im- 
agine .  .  .''  began  Lingard,  after  waiting  for  some 
time  in  silence. 

"  Can't  imagine!  I  should  think  you  couldn't," 
interrupted  Almayer.  ''Why!  .  .  .  You  just  listen. 
When  Ali  came  back  I  felt  a  little  easier  in  my  mind. 
There  was  then  some  semblance  of  order  in  Sambir. 
I  had  the  Jack  up  since  the  morning  and  began  to  feel 
safer.  Some  of  my  men  turned  up  in  the  afternoon. 
I  did  not  ask  any  questions;  set  them  to  work  as  if 
nothing  had  happened.  Towards  the  evening — it 
might  have  been  five  or  half-past — I  was  on  our  jetty 
with  the  child  when  I  heard  shouts  at  the  far-off  end 
of  the  settlement.  At  first  I  didn't  take  much  notice. 
By  and  by  Ali  came  to  me  and  says,  '  Master,  give  me 
the  child,  there  is  much  trouble  in  the  settlement.'  So 
I  gave  him  Nina  and  went  in,  took  my  revolver,  and 
passed  through  the  house  into  the  back  courtyard.  As 
I  came  down  the  steps  I  saw  all  the  serving  girls  clear 
out  from  the  cooking  shed,  and  I  heard  a  big  crowd 
howling  on  the  other  side  of  the  dry  ditch  which  is 
the  limit  of  our  ground.  Could  not  see  them  on  ac- 
count of  the  fringe  of  bushes  along  the  ditch,  but  I 
knew  that  crowd  was  angry  and  after  somebody.  As 
I  stood  wondering,  that  Jim-Eng — you  know  the 
Chinaman  who  settled  here  a  couple  of  years  ago?" 

"  He  was  my  passenger;  I  brought  him  here,"  ex- 
claimed Lingard.     "  A  first-class  Chinaman  that." 

''  Did  you?  I  had  forgotten.  Well,  that  Jim-Eng, 
he  burst  through  the  bush  and  fell  into  my  arms,  so  to 
speak.  He  told  me,  panting,  that  they  were  after  him 
because  he  wouldn't  take  off  his  hat  to  the  flag.  He 
was  not  so  much  scared,  but  he  was  very  angry  and 
indignant.    Of  course  he  had  to  run  for  it;  there  were 


l62  AN   OUTCAST   OF   THE   ISLANDS. 

some  fifty  men  after  him — Lakamba's  friends — but  he 
was  full  of  fight.  Said  he  was  an  Englishman,  and 
would  not  take  off  his  hat  to  any  flag  but  English.  I 
tried  to  soothe  him  while  the  crowd  was  shouting  on 
the  other  side  of  the  ditch.  I  told  him  he  must  take 
one  of  my  canoes  and  cross  the  river.  Stop  on  the 
other  side  for  a  couple  of  days.  He  wouldn't.  Not  he. 
He  was  English,  and  he  would  fight  the  whole  lot. 
Says  he :  '  They  are  only  black  fellows.  We  white 
men,'  meaning  me  and  himself,  *  can  fight  everybody 
in  Sambir.'  He  was  mad  with  passion.  The  crowd 
quieted  a  little,  and  I  thought  I  could  shelter  Jim-Eng 
without  much  risk,  when  all  of  a  sudden  I  heard  Wil- 
lems'  voice.  He  shouted  to  me  in  English :  '  Let  four 
men  enter  your  compound  to  get  that  Chinaman! '  I 
said  nothing.  Told  Jim-Eng  to  keep  quiet  too.  Then 
after  a  while  Willems  shouts  again:  '  Don't  resist,  Al- 
mayer.  I  give  you  good  advice.  I  am  keeping  this 
crowd  back.  Don't  resist  them! '  That  beggar's  voice 
enraged  me;  I  could  not  help  it.  I  cried  to  him:  'You 
are  a  liar! '  and  just  then  Jim-Eng,  who  had  flung  off 
his  jacket  and  had  tucked  up  his  trousers  ready  for  a 
fight;  just  then  that  fellow  he  snatches  the  revolver 
out  of  my  hand  and  lets  fly  at  them  through  the  bush. 
There  was  a  sharp  cry — he  must  have  hit  somebody — 
and  a  great  yell,  and  before  I  could  wink  twice  they 
were  over  the  ditch  and  through  the  bush  and  on  top 
of  us!  Simply  rolled  over  us!  There  wasn't  the  slight- 
est chance  to  resist.  I  was  trampled  under  foot,  Jim- 
Eng  got  a  dozen  gashes  about  his  body,  and  we  were 
carried  half-way  up  the  yard  in  the  first  rush.  My  eyes 
and  mouth  were  full  of  dust;  I  was  on  my  back  with 
three  or  four  fellows  sitting  on  me.  I  could  hear  Jim- 
Eng  trying  to  shout  curses  not  very  far  from  me.  Now 
and  then  they  would  throttle  him  and  he  would  gurgle. 
I  could  hardly  breathe  myself  with  two  heavy  fellows 
on  my  chest.    Willems  came  up  running  and  ordered 


AN  OUTCAST   OF   THE   ISLANDS. 


63 


them  to  raise  me,  but  to  keep  good  hold.  They  led 
me  into  the  verandah.  I  looked  round,  but  did  not  see 
either  AH  or  the  child.  Felt  easier.  Struggled  a  little. 
.  .  .  Oh,  my  God!" 

Almayer's  face  was  distorted  with  a  passing  spasm 
of  rage.  Lingard  moved  in  his  chair  slightly.  Al- 
mayer  went  on  after  a  short  pause: 

''  They  held  me,  shouting  threats  in  my  face.  Wil- 
lems  took  down  my  hammock  and  threw  it  to  them. 
He  pulled  out  the  drawer  of  this  table,  and  found  there 
a  palm  and  needle  and  some  sail-twine.  We  were  mak- 
ing awnings  for  your  brig,  as  you  had  asked  me  last 
voyage  before  you  left.  He  knew,  of  course,  where  to 
look  for  what  he  wanted.  By  his  orders  they  laid  me 
out  on  the  floor,  wrapped  me  in  my  hammock,  and  he 
started  to  stitch  me  in,  as  if  I  had  been  a  corpse,  begin- 
ning at  the  feet.  While  he  worked  he  laughed  wick- 
edly. I  called  him  all  the  names  I  could  think  of.  He 
told  them  to  put  their  dirty  paws  over  my  mouth  and 
nose.  I  was  nearly  choked.  Whenever  I  moved  they 
punched  me  in  the  ribs.  He  went  on  taking  fresh 
needlefuls  as  he  wanted  them,  and  working  steadily. 
Sewed  me  up  to  my  throat.  Then  he  rose,  saying, 
'  That  will  do ;  let  go.'  That  woman  had  been  stand- 
ing by;  they  must  have  been  reconciled.  She  clapped 
her  hands.  I  lay  on  the  floor  like  a  bale  of  goods  while 
he  stared  at  me,  and  the  woman  shrieked  with  delight. 
Like  a  bale  of  goods!  There  was  a  grin  on  every  face, 
and  the  verandah  was  full  of  them.  I  wished  myself 
dead — 'pon  my  word.  Captain  Lingard,  I  did!  I  do 
now  whenever  I  think  of  it!  " 

Lingard's  face  expressed  a  sympathetic  indigna- 
tion, but  it  brought  no  comfort  to  Almayer,  who 
dropped  his  head  upon  his  arms  on  the  table,  and  spoke 
in  that  position  in  an  indistinct  and  mufifled  voice,  with- 
out looking  up. 

"  Finally,  by  his  directions,  they  flung  me  into  the 


164  AN   OUTCAST   OF   THE   ISLANDS. 

big  rocking-chair.  I  was  sewed  in  so  tight  that  I  was 
stiff  Uke  a  piece  of  wood.  He  was  giving  orders  in  a 
very  loud  voice,  and  that  man  Babalatchi  saw  that  they 
were  executed.  They  obeyed  him  impHcitly.  Mean- 
time I  lay  there  in  the  chair  like  a  log,  and  that  woman 
capered  before  me  and  made  faces;  snapped  her  fin- 
gers before  my  nose.  Women  are  bad! — ain't  they?  I 
never  saw  her  before,  as  far  as  I  know.  Never  done 
anything  to  her.  Yet  she  was  perfectly  fiendish.  Can 
you  understand  it?  Now  and  then  she  would  leave 
me  alone  to  hang  round  his  neck  for  awhile,  and  then 
she  would  return  before  my  chair  and  begin  her  ex- 
ercises again.  He  looked  on,  indulgent.  The  per- 
spiration ran  down  my  face,  got  into  my  eyes — my 
arms  were  sewn  in.  I  was  blinded  half  the  time;  at 
times  I  could  see  better.  She  drags  him  before  my 
chair.  '  I  am  like  white  women,'  she  says,  her  arms 
round  his  neck.  You  should  have  seen  the  faces  of 
the  fellows  in  the  verandah!  They  were  scandalised 
and  ashamed  of  themselves  to  see  her  behaviour. 
Suddenly  she  asks  him,  alluding  to  me:  'When  are 
you  going  to  kill  him?  '  Imagine  how  I  felt.  I  must 
have  swooned;  I  don't  remember  exactlv.  I  fancy 
there  was  a  row ;  he  was  angry.  When  I  got  my  wits 
again  he  was  sitting  close  to  me,  and  she  was  gone. 
T  understood  he  sent  her  to  my  wife,  who  was  hiding 
in  the  back  room  and  never  came  out  during  this  af- 
fair. Willems  says  to  me — I  fancy  I  can  hear  his  voice, 
hoarse  and  dull — he  says  to  me :  '  Not  a  hair  of  your 
head  shall  be  touched.'  I  made  no  sound.  Then  he 
goes  on :  '  Please  rgm^pk'that  the  flag  you  have  hoisted 
' — which,  by  the  by,  is  not  yours — has  been  respected. 
Tell  Captain  Lingard  so  when  you  do  see  him.  But,' 
he  says,  '  you  first  fired  at  the  crowd.'  '  You  are  a  liar, 
you  blackguard ! '  I  shouted.  He  winced,  I  am  sure. 
It  hiirt  him  to  see  I  was  not  frightened.  '  Anyway,' 
he  says,  '  a  shot  had  been  fired  out  of  your  compound 


AN   OUTCAST   OF   THE   ISLANDS.  165 

and  a  man  was  hit.  Still,  all  your  property  shall  be 
respected  on  account  of  the  Union  Jack.  Moreover, 
I  have  no  quarrel  with  Captain  Lingard,  who  is  the 
senior  partner  in  this  business.  As  to  you,'  he  con- 
tinued, '  you  will  not  forget  this  day — not  if  you  live 
to  be  a  hundred  years  old — or  I  don't  know  your  na- 
ture. You  will  keep  the  bitter  taste  of  this  humiliation 
to  the  last  day  of  your  Hfe,  and  so  your  kindness  to 
me  shall  be  repaid.  I  shall  remove  all  the  powder  you 
have.  This  coast  is  under  the  protection  of  the  Nether- 
lands, and  you  have  no  right  to  have  any  powder. 
There  are  the  Governor's  Orders  in  Council  to  that 
effect,  and  you  know  it.  Tell  me  where  the  key  of  the 
small  storehouse  is?  '  I  said  not  a  word,  and  he  waited 
a  little,  then  rose,  saying:  *  It's  your  own  fault  if  there 
is  any  damage  done.'  He  ordered  Babalatchi  to  have 
the  lock  of  the  ofBce-room  forced,  and  went  in — rum- 
maged amongst  my  drawers — could  not  find  the  key. 
Then  that  woman  Aissa  asked  my  wife,  and  she  gave 
them  the  key.  After  awhile  they  tumbled  every  barrel 
into  the  river.  Eighty-three  hundredweight!  He  su- 
perintended himself,  and  saw  every  barrel  roll  into  the 
water.  There  were  mutterings.  Babalatchi  was  angry 
and  tried  to  expostulate,  but  he  gave  him  a  good  shak- 
ing. I  must  say  he  was  perfectly  fearless  with  those 
fellows.  Then  he  came  back  to  the  verandah,  sat  down 
by  me  again,  and  says :  '  We  found  your  man  AH  with 
your  little  daughter  hiding  in  the  bushes  up  the  river. 
We  brought  them  in.  They  are  perfectly  safe,  of 
course.  Let  me  congratulate  you,  Almayer,  upon  the 
cleverness  of  your  child.  She  recognised  me  at  once, 
and  cried  "  pig  "  as  naturally  as  you  would  yourself. 
Circumstances  alter  feelings.  You  should  have  seen 
how  frightened  your  man  Ali  was.  Clapped  his  hands 
over  her  mouth.  I  think  you  spoil  her,  Almayer.  But 
I  am  not  angry.  Really,  you  look  so  ridiculous  in  this 
chair  that  I  can't  feel  angry.'    I  made  a  frantic  efifort 


l66  AN   OUTCAST  OF  THE   ISLANDS. 

to  burst  out  of  my  hammock  to  get  at  that  scoundrel's 
throat,  but  I  only  fell  of¥  and  upset  the  chair  over  my- 
self. He  laughed  and  said  only :  '  I  leave  you  half  of 
your  revolver  cartridges  and  take  half  myself;  they  will 
fit  mine.  We  are  both  white  men,  and  should  back 
each  other  up.  I  may  want  them.'  I  shouted  at  him 
from  under  the  chair:  '  You  are  a  thief,'  but  he  never 
looked,  and  went  away,  one  hand  round  that  woman's 
waist,  the  other  on  Babalatchi's  shoulder,  to  whom  he 
was  talking — laying  down  the  law  about  something  or 
other.  In  less  than  five  minutes  there  was  nobody  in- 
side our  fences.  After  awhile  Ali  came  to  look  for 
me  and  cut  me  free.  I  haven't  seen  Willems  since — 
nor  anybody  else  for  that  matter.  I  have  been  left 
alone.  I  offered  sixty  dollars  to  the  man  who  had 
been  wounded,  which  were  accepted.  They  released 
Jim-Eng  the  next  day,  when  the  flag  had  been  hauled 
down.  He  sent  six  cases  of  opium  to  me  for  safe  keep- 
ing but  has  not  left  his  house.  I  think  he  is  safe  enough 
now.     Everything  is  very  quiet." 

Towards  the  end  of  his  narrative  Almayer  lifted  his 
head  off  the  table,  and  now  sat  back  in  his  chair  and 
stared  at  the  bamboo  rafters  of  the  roof  above  him. 
Lingard  lolled  in  his  seat  with  his  legs  stretched  out. 
In  the  peaceful  gloom  of  the  verandah,  with  its  low- 
ered screens,  they  heard  faint  noises  from  the  world 
outside  in  the  blazing  sunshine:  a  hail  on  the  river, 
the  answer  from  the  shore,  the  creak  of  a  pulley;  sounds 
short,  interrupted,  as  if  lost  suddenly  in  the  brilliance 
of  noonday.  Lingard  got  up  slowly,  walked  to  the 
front  rail,  and  holding  one  of  the  screens  aside,  looked 
out  in  silence.  Over  the  water  and  the  empty  court- 
yard came  a  distinct  voice  from  a  small  schooner  an- 
chored abreast  of  the  Lingard  jetty. 

"  Serang!  Take  a  pull  at  the  main  peak  halyards. 
This  gaff  is  down  on  the  boom.'* 

There  was  a  shrill  pipe  dying  in  long-drawn  ca- 


AN  OUTCAST   OF   THE   ISLANDS. 


167 


dence,  the  song  of  the  men  swinging  on  the  rope.  The 
voice  said  sharply:  "That  will  do!"  Another  voice 
— the  serang's  probably — shouted:  "Ikat!"  and  as 
Lingard  dropped  the  blind  and  turned  away  all  was 
silent  again,  as  if  there  had  been  nothing  on  the  other 
side  of  the  swaying  screen;  nothing  but  the  light, 
brilliant,  crude,  heavy,  lying  on  a  dead  land  like  a  pall 
of  fire.  Lingard  sat  down  again,  facing  Almayer,  his 
elbow  on  the  table,  in  a  thoughtful  attitude. 

''  Nice  little  schooner,"  muttered  Almayer,  wearily. 
"  Did  you  buy  her?  " 

"  No,"  answered  Lingard.  "  After  I  lost  the  Flash 
we  got  to  Palembang  in  our  boats.  I  chartered  her 
there,  for  six  months.  From  young  Ford,  you  know. 
Belongs  to  him.  He  wanted  a  spell  ashore,  so  I  took 
charge  myself.  Of  course  all  Ford's  people  on  board. 
Strangers  to  me.  I  had  to  go  to  Singapore  about  the 
insurance;  then  I  went  to  Macassar,  of  course.  Had 
long  passages.  No  wind.  It  was  like  a  curse  on  me. 
I  had  lots  of  trouble  with  old  Hudig.  That  delayed 
me  much." 

"Ah!  Hudig!  Why  with  Hudig?"  asked  Al- 
mayer, in  a  perfunctory  manner. 

"  Oh !  about  a  ...  a  woman,"  mumbled  Lingard. 

Almayer  looked  at  him  with  languid  surprise.  The 
old  seaman  had  twisted  his  white  beard  into  a  point, 
and  now  was  busy  giving  his  moustaches  a  fierce  curl. 
His  little  red  eyes — those  eyes  that  had  smarted  under 
the  salt  sprays  of  every  sea,  that  had  looked  unwink- 
ing to  windward  in  the  gales  of  all  latitudes — now 
glared  at  Almayer  from  behind  the  lowered  eyebrows 
Hke  a  pair  of  frightened  wild  beasts  crouching  in  a  bush. 

"Extraordinary!  So  like  you!  What  can  you 
have  to  do  with  Hudig's  women?  The  old  sinner!" 
said  Almayer,  negligently. 

"What  are  you  talking  about!  Wife  of  a  friend 
of  ...  I  mean  of  a  man  I  know  .  .  ." 


l68  AN  OUTCAST  OF   THE   ISLANDS. 

*'  Still,  I  don't  see  .  .  ."  interjected  Almayer,  care- 
lessly. 

"  Of  a  man  you  know  too.     Well.     Very  well." 

"  I  knew  so  many  men  before  you  made  me  bury 
myself  in  this  hole!  "  growled  Almayer,  unamiably. 
*'  If  she  had  anything  to  do  with  Hudig — that  wife 
— then  she  can't  be  up  to  much.  I  would  be  sorry 
for  the  man,"  added  Almayer,  brightening  up  with 
the  recollection  of  the  scandalous  tittle-tattle  of 
the  past,  when  he  was  a  young  man  in  the  sec- 
ond capital  of  the  Islands — and  so  well  informed,  so 
well  informed.  He  laughed.  Lingard's  frown  deep- 
ened. 

"  Don't  talk  foohsh!     It's  Willems'  wife." 

Almayer  grasped  the  sides  of  his  seat,  his  eyes  and 
mouth  opened  wide. 

"What?    Why!"  he  exclaimed,  bewildered. 

"  Willems' — wife,"  repeated  Lingard,  distinctly. 
"  You  ain't  deaf,  are  you?  The  wife  of  Willems.  Just 
so.  As  to  why !  There  was  a  promise.  And  I  did  not 
know  what  had  happened  here." 

"  What  is  it.  You've  been  giving  her  money,  I 
bet,"  cried  Almayen 

"Well,  no!"  said  Lingard,  deliberately.  "Al- 
though I  suppose  I  shall  have  to  .  .  ." 

Almayer  groaned. 

"  The  fact  is,"  went  on  Lingard,  speaking  slowly 
and  steadily,  "  the  fact  is  that  I  have  ...  I  have 
brought  her  here.     Here.     To  Sambir." 

"In  heaven's  name!  why?"  shouted  Almayer, 
jumping  up.  The  chair  tilted  and  fell  slowly  over.  He 
raised  his  clasped  hands  above  his  head  and  brought 
them  down  jerkily,  separating  his  fingers  with  an  ef- 
fort, as  if  tearing  them  apart.  Lingard  nodded,  quick- 
ly, several  times. 

"  I  have.  Awkward.  Hey?"  he  said,  with  a  puz- 
zled look  upwards. 


AN   OUTCAST   OF   THE   ISLANDS.  169 

"  Upon  my  word,"  said  Almayer,  tearfully.  "  I 
can't  understand  you  at  all.  What  will  you  do  next! 
Willems'  wife!  " 

"  Wife  and  child.  Small  boy,  you  know.  They 
are  on  board  the  schooner." 

Almayer  looked  at  Lingard  with  sudden  suspicion, 
then  turning  away  busied  himself  in  picking  up  the 
chair,  sat  down  in  it  turning  his  back  upon  the  old  sea- 
man, and  tried  to  whistle,  but  gave  it  up  directly.  Lin- 
gard went  on — 

"  Fact  is,  the  fellow  got  into  trouble  with  Hudig. 
Worked  upon  my  feelings.  I  promised  to  arrange 
matters.  I  did.  With  much  trouble.  Hudig  was 
angry  with  her  for  wishing  to  join  her  husband.  Un- 
principled old  fellow.  You  know  she  is  his  daughter. 
Well,  I  said  I  would  see  her  through  it  all  right ;  help 
Willems  to  a  fresh  start  and  so  on.  I  spoke  to  Craig 
in  Palembang.  He  is  getting  on  in  years,  and  wanted 
a  manager  or  partner.  I  promised  to  guarantee  Wil- 
lems' good  behaviour.  We  settled  all  that.  Craig  is 
an  old  crony  of  mine.  Been  shipmates  in  the  forties. 
He's  waiting  for  him  now.  A  pretty  mess!  What  do 
you  think?  " 

Almayer  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  That  woman  broke  with  Hudig  on  my  assurance 
that  all  would  be  well,"  went  on  Lingard,  with  grow- 
ing dismay.  **  She  did.  Proper  thing,  of  course. 
Wife,  husband  .  .  .  together  ...  as  it  should  be 
.  .  .  Smart  fellow  .  .  .  Impossible  scoundrel  .  .  . 
Jolly  old  go!    Oh!  damn!" 

Almayer  laughed  spitefully. 

"  How  delighted  he  will  be,"  he  said,  softly.  "  You 
will  make  two  people  happy.  Two  at  least!"  He 
laughed  again,  while  Lingard  looked  at  his  shaking 
shoulders  in  consternation. 

"  I  am  jammed  on  a  lee  shore  this  time,  if  ever  I 
was,"  muttered  Lingard. 


I-TQ  AN   OUTCAST   OF   THE   ISLANDS. 

"  Send  her  back  quick,"  suggested  Almayer,  stifling 
another  laugh. 

''  What  are  you  sniggering  at?  "  growled  Lingard, 
angrily.  "  I'll  work  it  out  all  clear  yet.  Meantime 
you  must  receive  her  into  this  house." 

*' My  house!"  cried  Almayer,  turning  round. 

"  It's  mine  too — a  little — isn't  it?  "  said  Lingard. 
"  Don't  argue,"  he  shouted,  as  Almayer  opened  his 
mouth.    "  Obey  orders  and  hold  your  tongue!  " 

"  Oh!  If  you  take  it  in  that  tone!  "  mumbled  Al- 
Aiayer,  sulkily,  with  a  gesture  of  assent. 

*'  You  are  so  aggravating  too,  my  boy,"  said  the 
old  seaman,  with  unexpected  placidity.  "  You  must 
give  me  time  to  turn  round.  I  can't  keep  her  on  board 
all  the  time.  I  must  tell  her  something.  Say,  for  in- 
stance, that  he  is  gone  up  the  river.  Expected  back 
every  day.  That's  it.  D'ye  hear?  You  must  put  her 
on  that  tack  and  dodge  her  along  easy,  while  I  take 
the  kinks  out  of  the  situation.  By  God!"  he  ex- 
claimed, mournfully,  after  a  short  pause,  ''  life  is  foul! 
Foul  like  a  lee  forebrace  on  a  dirty  night.  And  yet. 
And  yet.  One  must  see  it  clear  for  running  before 
going  below — for  good.  Now  you  attend  to  what  I 
said,"  he  added,  sharply,  "  if  you  don't  want  to  quarrel 
with  me,  my  boy." 

"  I  don't  want  to  quarrel  with  you,"  murmured 
Almayer  with  unwilling  deference.  ''  Only  I  wish  I 
could  understand  you.  I  know  you  are  my  best  friend. 
Captain  Lingard;  only,  upon  my  word  I  can't  make 
you  out  sometimes!    I  wish  I  could  .  .  ." 

Lingard  burst  into  a  loud  laugh  which  ended 
shortly  in  a  deep  sigh.  He  closed  his  eyes,  tilting  his 
head  over  the  back  of  his  armchair;  and  on  his  face, 
baked  by  the  unclouded  suns  of  many  hard  years,  there 
appeared  for  a  moment  a  weariness  and  a  look  of  age 
which  startled  Almayer,  Hke  an  unexpected  disclosure 
of  evil. 


AN   OUTCAST   OF   THE   ISLANDS. 


171 


*'  I  am  done  up,"  said  Lingard,  gently.  *'  Perfectly 
done  up.  All  night  on  deck  getting  that  schooner 
up  the  river.  Then  talking  with  you.  Seems  to  me 
I  could  go  to  sleep  on  a  clothes-line.  I  should  like  to 
eat  something  though.    Just  see  about  that,  Kaspar." 

Almayer  clapped  his  hands,  and  receiving  no  re- 
sponse was  going  to  call,  when  in  the  central  passage 
of  the  house,  behind  the  red  curtain  of  the  doorway 
opening  upon  the  verandah,  they  heard  a  child's  im- 
perious voice  speaking  shrilly. 

''  Take  me  up  at  once.  I  want  to  be  carried  into 
the  verandah.    I  shall  be  very  angry.    Take  me  up." 

A  man's  voice  answered,  subdued,  in  humble  re- 
monstrance. The  faces  of  Almayer  and  Lingard 
brightened  at  once.    The  old  seaman  called  out — 

''Bring  the  child.     Lekas!" 

"  You  will  see  how  she  has  grown,"  exclaimed  Al- 
mayer, in  a  jubilant  tone. 

Through  the  curtained  doorway  Ali  appeared  with 
little  Nina  Almayer  in  his  arms.  The  child  had  one 
arm  round  his  neck,  and  with  the  other  she  hugged  a 
ripe  pumelo  nearly  as  big  as  her  own  head.  Her  little 
pink,  sleeveless  robe  had  half  slipped  ofT  her  shoulders, 
but  the  long  black  hair,  that  framed  her  olive  face, 
in  which  the  big  black  eyes  looked  out  in  childish 
solemnity,  fell  in  luxuriant  profusion  over  her  shoul- 
ders, all  round  her  and  over  Ali's  arms,  like  a  close- 
meshed  and  delicate  net  of  silken  threads.  Lingard 
got  up  to  meet  Ali,  and  as  soon  as  she  caught  sight  of 
the  old  seaman  she  dropped  the  fruit  and  put  out  both 
her  hands  with  a  cry  of  delight.  He  took  her  from 
the  Malay,  and  she  laid  hold  of  his  moustaches  with 
an  affectionate  goodwill  that  brought  unaccustomed 
tears  into  his  little  red  eyes. 

"  Not  so  hard,  little  one,  not  so  hard,"  he  mur- 
mured, pressing  with  an  enormous  hand,  that  covered 
it  entirely,  the  child's  head  to  his  face. 

12 


1^2  AN   OUTCAST   OF   THE   ISLANDS. 

"Pick  up  my  pumelo,  O  Rajah  of  the  sea!"  she 
said,  speaking  in  a  high-pitched,  clear  voice  with  great 
volubihty.  "  There,  under  the  table.  I  want  it  quick! 
Quick!  You  have  been  away  fighting  with  many  men. 
AH  says  so.  You  are  a  mighty  fighter.  Ali  says  so. 
On  the  great  sea  far  away,  away,  away." 

She  waved  her  hand,  staring  with  dreamy  vacancy, 
while  Lingard  looked  at  her,  and  squatting  down 
groped  under  the  table  after  the  pumelo. 

"Where  does  she  get  those  notions?"  said  Lin- 
gard, getting  up  cautiously,  to  Almayer,  who  had  been 
giving  orders  to  Ali. 

"  She  is  always  with  the  men.  Many  a  time  Fve 
found  her  with  her  fingers  in  their  rice  dish,  of  an  even- 
ing. She  does  not  care  for  her  mother  though — I  am 
glad  to  say.  How^^etty  she  is — and  so  sharp.  My 
very  image !  "  ? 

Lingard  had  put  the  child  on  the  table,  and  both 
men  stood  looking  at  her  with  radiant  faces. 

"  A  perfect  little  woman,"  whispered  Lingard. 
"  Yes,  my  dear  boy,  we  shall  make  her  somebody. 
You'll  see! " 

"  Very  little  chance  of  that  now,"  remarked  Al- 
mayer, sadly. 

"  You  do  not  know!  "  exclaimed  Lingard,  taking 
up  the  child  again,  and  beginning  to  walk  up  and  down 
the  verandah.    "  I  have  my  plans.    I  have — listen." 

And  he  began  to  explain  to  the  interested  Almayer 
his  plans  for  the  future.  He  would  interview  Abdulla 
and  Lakamba.  There  must  be  some  understanding 
with  those  fellows  now  they  had  the  upper  hand. 
Here  he  interrupted  himself  to  swear  freely,  while  the 
child,  who  had  been  diligently  fumbling  about  his 
neck,  had  found  his  whistle  and  blew  a  loud  blast  now 
and  then  close  to  his  ear — which  made  him  wince  and 
laugh  as  he  put  her  hands  down,  scolding  her  lovingly. 
Yes — that  would  be  easily  settled.    He  was  a  man  to 


AN  OUTCAST  OF   THE   ISLANDS.  173 

be  reckoned  with  yet.  Nobody  knew  that  better  than 
Almayer.  Very  well.  Then  he  must  patiently  try  and 
keep  some  little  trade  together.  It  would  be  all  right. 
But  the  great  thing — and  here  Lingard  spoke  lower, 
bringing  himself  to  a  sudden  standstill  before  the  en- 
tranced Almayer — the  great  thing  would  be  the  gold 
hunt  up  the  river.  He — Lingard — would  devote  him- 
self to  it.  He  had  been  in  the  interior  before.  There 
were  immense  deposits  of  alluvial  gold  there.  Fabu- 
lous. He  felt  sure.  Had  seen  places.  Dangerous 
work?  Of  course!  But  wdiat  a  reward!  He  would 
explore — and  find.  Not  a  shadow  of  doubt.  Hang 
the  danger.  They  would  first  get  as  much  as  they 
could  for  themselves.  Keep  the  thing  quiet.  Then 
after  a  time  form  a  Company.  In  Batavia  or  in  Eng- 
land. Yes,  in  England.  Much  better.  Splendid! 
Why,  of  course.  And  that  baby  would  be  the  richest 
woman  in  the  world.  He — Lingard — would  not,  per- 
haps, see  it — although  he  felt  good  for  many  years  yet 
— but  Almayer  would.  Here  was  something  to  live 
for  yet!    Hey? 

But  the  richest  woman  in  the  world  had  been  for 
the  last  five  minutes  shouting  shrilly — "Rajah  Laut! 
Rajah  Laut!  Hai!  Give  ear!  "  while  the  old  seaman 
had  been  speaking  louder,  unconsciously,  to  make  his 
deep  bass  heard  above  the  impatient  clamour.  He 
stopped  now  and  said  tenderly — 

*'  What  is  it,  little  woman?  " 

"  I  am  not  a  little  woman.  I  am  a  white  child. 
Anak  Putih.  A  white  child;  and  the  white  men  are 
my  brothers.  Father  says  so.  And  AH  says  so  too. 
Ali  knows  as  much  as  father.     Everything." 

Almayer  almost  danced  with  paternal  delight. 

*'  I_taught  hen  I  taught  her,"  he  repeated,  laugh- 
ingjyyith  tears Jn  -his  eyes.    "  Isn't  she  sharp?  " 

"  I  am  the  slave  of  the  white  child,"  said  Lingard, 
with  playful  solemnity.    "  What  is  the  order?  " 


174  AN   OUTCAST   OF   THE  ISLANDS. 

"  I  want  a  house,"  she  warbled,  with  great  eager- 
ness. "  I  want  a  house,  and  another  house  on  the  roof, 
and  another  on  the  roof — high.  High!  Like  the 
places  where  they  dwell — my  brothers — in  the  land 
where  the  sun  sleeps." 

"  To  the  westward,"  explained  Almayer,  under  his 
breath.  "  She  remembers  everything.  She  wants  you 
to  build  a  house  of  cards.  You  did,  last  time  you  were 
here." 

Lingard  sat  down  with  the  child  on  his  knees,  and 
Almayer  pulled  out  violently  one  drawer  after  another, 
looking  for  the  cards,  as  if  the  fate  of  the  world  de- 
pended upon  his  haste.  He  produced  a  dirty  double 
pack  which  was  only  used  during  Lingard's  visits  to 
Sambir,  when  he  would  sometimes  play — of  an  even- 
ing— with  Almayer,  a  game  which  he  called  Chinese 
bezique.  It  bored  Almayer,  but  the  old  seaman  de- 
lighted in  it,  considering  it  a  remarkable  product  of 
Chinese  genius — a  race  for  which  he  had  an  unac- 
countable liking  and  admiration. 

"  Now  we  will  get  on,  lAy  little  pearl,"  he  said, 
putting  together  with  extreme  precaution  two  cards 
that  looked  absurdly  flimsy  between  his  big  fingers. 
Little  Nina  watched  him  with  intense  seriousness  as 
he  went  on  erecting  the  ground  floor,  while  he  con- 
tinued to  speak  to  Almayer  with  his  head  over  his 
shoulder  so  as  not  to  endanger  the  structure  with  his 
breath. 

"  I  know  what  I  am  talking  about.  .  .  .  Been  in 
California  in  forty-nine.  .  .  .  Not  that  I  made  much 
.  .  .  then  in  Victoria  in  the  early  days.  ...  I  know 
all  about  it.  Trust  me.  Moreover  a  blind  man  could 
...  Be  quiet,  little  sister,  or  you  will  knock  this  affair 
down.  .  .  .  My  hand  pretty  steady  yet!  Hey,  Kas- 
par?  .  .  .  Now,  delight  of  my  heart,  we  shall  put  a 
third  house  on  the  top  of  these  two  .  .  .  keep  very 
quiet.  ...  As  I  was  saying,  you  got  only  to  stoop 


AN  OUTCAST  OF  THE  ISLANDS.  iJ^J 

and  gather  handfuls  of  gold  .  .  .  dust  .  .  .  there. 
Now  here  we  are.  Three  houses  on  top  of  one  another. 
Grand!" 

He  leaned  back  in  his  chair,  one  hand  on  the  child's 
head,  which  he  smoothed  mechanically,  and  gesticu- 
lated with  the  other,  speaking  to  Almayer. 

"  Once  on  the  spot,  there  would  be  only  the  trouble 
to  pick  up  the  stuff.  Then  we  shall  all  go  to  Europe. 
The  child  must  be  educated.  We  shall  be  rich.  Rich 
is  no  name  for  it.  Down  in  Devonshire  where  I  be- 
long, there  was  a  fellow  who  built  a  house  near  Teign- 
mouth  which  had  as  many  windows  as  a  three-decker 
has  ports.  Made  all  his  money  somewhere  out  here 
in  the  good  old  days.  People  around  said  he  had  been 
a  pirate.  We  boys — I  was  a  boy  in  a  Brixham  trawler 
then — certainly  believed  that.  He  went  about  in  a 
bath-chair  in  his  grounds.    Had  a  glass  eye  .  .  ." 

"  Higher!  Higher!  "  called  out  Nina,  pulling  the 
old  seaman's  beard. 

"You  do  worry  me — don't  you?"  said  Lingard, 
gently,  giving  her  a  tender  kiss.  *'  What?  One  more 
house  on  top  of  all  these?    Well!  I  will  try." 

The  child  watched  him  breathlessly.  When  the 
difficult  feat  was  accomplished  she  clapped  her  hands, 
looked  on  steadily,  and  after  a  while  gave  a  great  sigh 
of  content. 

"Oh!     Look  out!"  shouted  Almayer. 

The  structure  collapsed  suddenly  before  the  child's 
light  breath.  Lingard  looked  discomposed  for  a  mo- 
ment. Almayer  laughed,  but  the  little  girl  began  to 
cry. 

"  Take  her,"  said  the  old  seaman,  abruptly.  Then, 
after  Almayer  went  away  with  the  crying  child,  he  re- 
mained sitting  by  the  table,  looking  gloomily  at  the 
heap  of  cards. 

"  Damn  this  Willems,"  he  muttered  to  himself. 
"But  I  will  do  it  yet!" 


176  AN   OUTCAST  OF   THE   ISLANDS. 

He  got  up,  and  with  an  angry  push  of  his  hand 
swept  the  cards  off  the  table.  Then  he  fell  back  in 
his  chair. 

''  Tired  as  a  dog,"  he  sighed  out,  closing  his  eyes. 


IV. 

Consciously  or  unconsciously,  men  are  proud  of 
their  firmness,  steadfastness  of  purpose,  directness  of 
aim.  They  go  straight  towards  their  desire,  to  the 
accomplishment  of  virtue — sometimes  of  crime — in  an 
uplifting  persuasion  of  their  firmness.  They  walk  the 
road  of  life,  the  road  fenced  in  by  their  tastes,  preju- 
dices, disdains  or  enthusiasms,  generally  honest,  in- 
variably stupid,  and  are  proud  of  never  losing  their 
way.  If  they  do  stop,  it  is  to  look  for  a  moment  over 
the  hedges  that  make  them  safe,  to  look  at  the  misty 
valleys,  at  the  distant  peaks,  at  cHfifs  and  morasses,  at 
the  dark  forests  and  the  hazy  plains  where  other  human 
beings  grope  their  days  painfully  away,  stumbling  over 
the  bones  of  the  wise,  over  the  unburied  remains  of 
their  predecessors  who  died  alone,  in  gloom  or  in  sun- 
shine, half-way  from  anywhere.  The  man  of  purpose 
does  not  understand,  and  goes  on.  full  of  contempt. 
He  never  loses  his  way.  He  knows  where  he  is  going 
and  what  he  wants.  Travelling  on,  he  achieves  great 
length  without  any  breadth,  and  battered,  besmirched, 
and  weary,  he  touches  the  goal  at  last;  he  grasps  the 
reward  of  his  perseverance,  of  his  virtue,  of  his  healthy 
optimism:  an  untruthful  tombstone  over  a  dark  and 
soon  forgotten  grave. 

Lingard  had  never  hesitated  in  his  life.  Why 
should  he?  He  had  been  a  most  successful  trader, 
and  a  man  lucky  in  his  fights,  skilful  in  navigation, 


AN   OUTCAST  OF   THE   ISLANDS.  177 

undeniably  first  in  seamanship  in  those  seas.  He  knew 
it.  Had  he  not  heard  the  voice  of  common  consent? 
The  voice  of  the  world  that  respected  him  so  much; 
the  whole  world  to  him — for  to  us  the  limits  of  the 
universe  are  strictly  defined  by  those  we  know.  There 
is  nothing  for  us  outside  the  babble  of  praise  and  blame 
on  familiar  lips,  and  beyond  our  last  acquaintance 
there  lies  only  a  vast  chaos;  a  chaos  of  laughter  and 
tears  which  concerns  us  not;  laughter  and  tears  un- 
pleasant, wicked,  morbid,  contemptible — because 
heard  imperfectly  by  ears  rebeUious  to  strange  sounds. 
To  Lingard — simple  himself — all  things  were  simple. 
He  seldom  read.  Books  were  not  much  in  his  way, 
and  he  had  to  work  hard  navigating,  trading,  and  also, 
in  obedience  to  his  benevolent  instincts,  shaping  stray 
lives  he  found  here  and  there  under  his  busy  hand.  He 
remembered  the  Sunday-school  teachings  of  his  na- 
tive village  and  the  discourses  of  the  black-coated  gen- 
tleman connected  with  the  Mission  to  Fishermen  and 
Seamen,  whose  yawl-rigged  boat  darting  through 
rain-squalls  amongst  the  coasters  wind-bound  in  Fal- 
mouth Bay,  was  part  of  those  precious  pictures  of  his 
youthful  days  that  Hngered  in  his  memory.  "  As 
clever  a  sky-pilot  as  you  could  wish  to  see,"  he  would 
say  with  conviction,  "  and  the  best  man  to  handle  a 
boat  in  any  weather  I  ever  did  meet!  "  Such  were  the 
agencies  that  had  roughly  shaped  his  young  soul  be- 
fore he  went  away  to  see  the  world  in  a  southern-going 
ship — before  he  went,  ignorant  and  happy,  heavy  of 
hand,  pure  in  heart,  profane  in  speech,  to  give  himself 
up  to  the  great  sea  that  took  his  life  and  gave  him  his 
fortune.  When  thinking  of  his  rise  in  the  world — 
commander  of  ships,  then  shipowner,  then  a  man  of 
much  capital,  respected  wherever  he  went,  Lingard  in 
a  word,  the  Rajah  Laut — he  was  amazed  and  awed  by 
his  fate,  that  seertied  to  his  ill-informed  mind  the  most 
wondrous  known  in  the  annals  of  men.     His  experi- 


1^8  .     AN'  OUTCAST   OF   THE   ISLANDS. 

ence  appeared  to  him  immense  and  conclusive,  teach- 
ing him  the  lesson  of  the  simplicity  of  life.  In  life — 
as  in  seamanship — there  were  only  two  ways  of  doing 
a  thing :  the  right  way  and  the  wrong  way.  Common 
sense  and  experience  taught  a  man  the  way  that  was 
right.  The  other  was  for  lubbers  and  fools,  and  led, 
in  seamanship,  to  loss  of  spars  and  sails  or  shipwreck; 
in  life,  to  loss  of  money  and  consideration,  or  to  an 
unlucky  knock  on  the  head.  He  did  not  consider  it 
his  duty  to  be  angry  with  rascals.  He  was  only  angry 
with  things  he  could  not  understand,  but  for  the  weak- 
nesses of  humanity  he  could  find  a  contemptuous  tol- 
erance. It  being  manifest  that  he  was  wise  and  lucky 
—otherwise  how  could  he  have  been  as  successful  in  Hfe 
as  he  had  been?— he  had  an  inclination  to  set  right 
the  Hves  of  other  people,  just  as  he  could  hardly  re- 
frain— in  defiance  of  nautical  etiquette— from  interfer- 
ing with  his  chief  officer  when  the  crew  was  sending 
up  a  new  topmast,  or  generally  when  busy  about,  what 
he  called,  ''  a  heavy  job."  He  was  meddlesome  with 
Derfect  modesty ;  if  he  knew  a  thing  or  two  there  was 
no  merit  in  it.  "  Hard  knocks  taught  me  wisdom,  my 
boy,"  he  used  to  say,  ''  and  you  had  better  take  the 
advice  of  a  man  who  has  been  a  fool  in  his  time.  Have 
another."  And  "  my  boy  "  as  a  rule  took  the  cool 
drink,  the  advice,  and  the  consequent  help  which  Lin- 
gard  felt  himself  bound  in  honour  to  give,  so  as  to  back 
up  his  opinion  like  an  honest  man.  Captain  Tom  went 
saihng  from  island  to  island,  appearing  unexpectedly 
in  various  localities,  beaming,  noisy,  anecdotal,  com- 
mendatory or  comminatory,  but  alwavs  welcome. 

It  was  only  since  his  return  to  Sambir  that  the  old 
seaman  had  for  the  first  time  known  doubt  and  un- 
happiness.  The  loss  of  the  F/a^/z— planted  firmly  and 
for  ever  on  a  ledge  of  rock  at  the  north  end  of  Caspar 
Straits  in  the  uncertain  light  of  a  cloudy  morning — 
shook  him  considerably ;  and  the  amazing  news  which 


AN   OUTCAST   OF   THE   ISLANDS.  lyg 

he  heard  on  his  arrival  in  Sambir  were  not  made  to 
soothe  his  feeHngs.  A  good  many  years  ago — prompt- 
ed by  his  love  of  adventure — he,  with  infinite  trouble, 
had  found  out  and  surveyed — for  his  own  benefit  only 
— the  entrances  to  that  river,  where,  as  he  had  heard 
through  native  report,  a  new  settlement  of  Malays  was 
forming.  No  doubt  he  thought  at  the  time  mostly 
of  personal  gain;  but,  received  with  hearty  friendli- 
ness by  Patalolo,  he  soon  came  to  like  the  ruler  and 
the  people,  offered  his  counsel  and  his  help,  and — • 
knowing  nothing  of  Arcadia — he  dreamed  of  Arca- 
dian happiness  for  that  little  corner  of  the  world  which 
he  loved  to  think  all  his  own.  His  deep-seated  and  im- 
movable conviction  that  only  he — he,  Lingard — knew 
what  was  good  for  them  was  characteristic  of  him,  and, 
after  all,  not  so  very  far  wrong.  He  would  make  them 
happy  whether  or  no,  he  said,  and  he  meant  it.  His 
trade  brought  prosperity  to  the  young  state,  and  the 
fear  of  his  heavy  hand  secured  its  internal  peace  for 
many  years. 

He  looked  proudly  upon  his  work.  With  every 
passing  year  he  loved- more  the  land,  the  people,  the 
muddy  river  that,  if  he  could  help  it,  would  carry  no 
other  craft  but  the  Flash  on  its  unclean  and  friendly 
surface.  As  he  slowly  warped  his  vessel  up-stream  he 
would  scan  with  knowing  looks  the  riverside  clearings, 
and  pronounce  solemn  judgment  upon  the  prospects 
of  the  season's  rice-crop.  He  knew  every  settler  on 
the  banks  between  the  sea  and  Sambir;  he  knew  their 
wives,  their  children;  he  knew  every  individual  of  the 
multi-coloured  groups  that,  standing  on  the  flimsy 
platforms  of  tiny  reed  dwellings  built  over  the  w^ater, 
waved  their  hands  and  shouted  shrilly:  "O!  Kapal 
layer!  Hai!"  while  the  Flash  swept  slowly  through 
the  populated  reach,  to  enter  the  lonely  stretches  of 
sparkling  brown  water  bordered  by  the  dense  and 
silent  forest,  whose  big  trees  nodded  their  outspread 


l80  AN   OUTCAST  OF   THE   ISLANDS. 

boughs  gently  in  the  faint,  warm  breeze — as  if  in  sign 
of  tender  but  melancholy  welcome.  He  loved  it  all: 
the  landscape  of  brown  golds  and  brilliant  emeralds 
under  the  dome  of  hot  sapphire;  the  whispering  big 
trees;  the  loquacious  nipa-palnis  that  rattled  their 
leaves  volubly  in  the  night  breeze,  as  if  in  haste  to 
tell  him  all  the  secrets  of  the  great  forest  behind  them. 
He  loved  the  heavy  scents  of  blossoms  and  black  earth, 
that  breath  of  life  and  of  death  which  lingered  over 
his  brig  in  the  damp  air  of  tepid  and  peaceful  nights. 
He  loved  the  narrow  and  sombre  creeks,  strangers  to 
sunshine:  black,  smooth,  tortuous — like  byways  of 
despair.  He  liked  even  the  troops  of  sorrowful-faced 
monkeys  that  profaned  the  quiet  spots  with  capricious 
gambols  and  insane  gestures  of  inhuman  madness. 
He  loved  everything  there,  animated  or  inanimated; 
the  very  mud  of  the  riverside;  the  very  alligators, 
enormous  and  stolid,  basking  on  it  with  impertinent 
unconcern.  Their  size  was  a  source  of  pride  to  him. 
"Immense  fellows!  Make  two  of  them  Palembang 
reptiles!  I  tell  you,  old  man!  "  he  would  shout,  pok- 
ing some  crony  of  his  playfully  in  the  ribs :  "  I  tell  you, 
big  as  you  are,  they  could  swallow  you  in  one  gulp, 
hat,  boots  and  all!  Magnificent  beggars!  Wouldn't 
you  like  to  see  them?  Wouldn't  you!  Ha!  ha!  ha!  " 
His  thunderous  laughter  filled  the  verandah,  rolled 
over  the  hotel  garden,  overflowed  into  the  street,  par- 
alysing for  a  short  moment  the  noiseless  traffic  of  bare 
brown  feet;  and  its  loud  reverberations  would  even 
startle  the  landlord's  tame  bird — a  shameless  mynah 
— into  a  momentary  propriety  of  behaviour  under  the 
nearest  chair.  In  the  big  billiard-room  perspiring  men 
in  thin  cotton  singlets  would  stop  the  game,  listen, 
cue  in  hand,  for  a  while  through  the  open  windows, 
then  nod  their  moist  faces  at  each  other  sagaciously 
and  whisper:  "The  old  fellow  is  talking  about  his 
river." 


AN  OUTCAST  OF   THE   ISLANDS.  igl 

His  river!  The  whispers  of  curious  men,  the  mys- 
tery of  the  thing,  were  to  Lingard  a  source  of  never- 
ending  dehght.  The  common  talk  of  ignorance  ex- 
aggerated the  profits  of  his  queer  monopoly,  and, 
although  strictly  truthful  in  general,  he  liked,  on  that 
matter,  to  mislead  speculation  still  further  by  boasts 
full  of  cold  raillery.  His  river!  By  it  he  was  not  only 
rich — he  was  interesting.  This  secret  of  his  which 
made  him  different  to  the  other  traders  of  those  seas 
gave  intimate  satisfaction  to  that  desire  for  singularity  ; 
which  he  shared  with  the  rest  of  mankind,  without  i 
being  aware  of  its  presence  within  his  breast.  It  was 
the  greater  part  of  his  happiness,  but  he  only  knew  it 
after  its  loss,  so  unforeseen,  so  sudden  and  so  cruel. 

After  his  conversation  with  Almayer  he  went  on 
board  the  schooner,  sent  Joanna  on  shore,  and  shut 
himself  up  in  his  cabin,  feeling  very  unwell.  He  made 
the  most  of  his  indisposition  to  Almayer,  who  came 
to  visit  him  twice  a  day.  It  was  an  excuse  for  doing 
nothing  just  yet.  He  wanted  to  think.  He  was  very 
angry.  Angry  with  himself,  with  Willems.  Angry 
at  what  Willems  had  done — and  also  angry  at  what 
he  had  left  undone.  The  scoundrel  was  not  complete. 
The  conception  was  perfect,  but  the  execution,  unac- 
countably, fell  short.  Why?  He  ought  to  have  cut 
Almayer's  throat  and  burnt  the  place  to  ashes — then 
cleared  out.  Got  out  of  his  way;  of  him,  Lingard! 
Yet  he  didn't.  Was  it  impudence,  contempt — or  what? 
He  felt  hurt  at  the  implied  disrespect  of  his  power,  and 
the  incomplete  rascality  of  the  proceeding  disturbed 
him  exceedingly.  There  was  something  short,  some- 
thing wanting,  something  that  would  have  given  him 
a  free  hand  in  the  work  of  retribution.  The  obvious, 
the  right  thing  to  do,  was  to  shoot  Willems.  Yet  how 
could  he?  Had  the  fellow  resisted,  showed  fight,  or 
ran  away;  had  he  shown  any  consciousness  of  harm 
done,  it  would  have  been  more  possible,  more  natural. 


l82  AN  OUTCAST  OF  THE  ISLANDS. 

But  no!  The  fellow  actually  had  sent  him  a  message. 
Wanted  to  see  him.  What  for?  The  thing  could  not 
be  explained.  An  unexampled,  cold-blooded  treach- 
ery, awful,  incomprehensible.  Why  did  he  do  it? 
Why?  Why?  The  old  seaman  in  the  stuffy  solitude 
of  his  little  cabin  on  board  the  schooner  groaned  out 
many  times  that  question,  striking  with  an  open  palm 
his  perplexed  forehead. 

During  his  four  days  of  seclusion  he  had  received 
two  messages  from  the  outer  world;  from  that  world 
of  Sambir  which  had,  so  suddenly  and  so  finally, 
slipped  from  his  grasp.  One,  a  few  words  from  Wil- 
lems  written  on  a  torn-out  page  of  a  small  note-book; 
the  other,  a  communication  from  Abdulla  caligraphed 
carefully  on  a  large  sheet  of  paper,  nearly  as  stiff  as 
cardboard,  and  delivered  to  him  in  a  green  silk  wrap- 
per. The  first  he  could  not  understand.  It  said: 
"  Come  and  see  me.  I  am  not  afraid.  Are  you?  W." 
He  tore  it  up  angrily,  but  before  the  small  bits  of  dirty 
paper  had  the  time  to  flutter  down  and  settle  on  the 
floor,  the  anger  was  gone  and  was  replaced  by  a  senti- 
ment that  induced  him  to  go  on  his  knees,  pick  up  the 
fragments  of  the  torn  message,  piece  it  together  on  the 
top  of  his  chronometer  box,  and  contemplate  it  long 
and  thoughtfully,  as  if  he  had  hoped  to  read  the  answer 
of  the  horrible  riddle  in  the  very  form  of  the  letters 
that  went  to  make  up  that  fresh  insult.  Abdulla's  let- 
ter he  read  carefully  and  rammed  it  into  his  pocket, 
also  with  anger,  but  with  anger  that  ended  in  a  half- 
resigned,  half-amused  smile.  He  would  never  give  in 
as  long  as  there  was  a  chance.  *'  It's  generally  the 
safest  way  to  stick  to  the  ship  as  long  as  she  will  swim," 
was  one  of  his  favourite  sayings:  ''  The  safest  and  the 
right  way.  To  abandon  a  craft  because  it  leaks  is  easy 
— but  poor  work.  Poor  work !  "  Yet  he  was  intelli- 
gent enough  to  know  when  he  was  beaten,  and  to  ac- 
cept the  situation  like  a  man,  without  repining.    When 


AN  OUTCAST  OF  THE   ISLANDS.  183 

Almayer  came  on  board  that  afternoon  he  handed  him 
the  letter  without  comment. 

Almayer  read  it,  returned  it  in  silence,  and  leaning 
over  the  taffrail  (the  two  men  were  on  deck)  looked 
down  for  some  time  at  the  play  of  the  eddies  round 
the  schooner's  rudder.  At  last  he  said  without  look- 
ing up— 

''  That's  a  decent  enough  letter.  Abdulla  gives  him 
up  to  you.  I  told  you  they  were  getting  sick  of  him. 
What  are  you  going  to  do?  " 

Lingard  cleared  his  throat,  shufifled  his  feet,  opened 
his  mouth  with  great  determination,  but  said  nothing 
for  a  while.    At  last  he  murmured — 

"  I'll  be  hanged  if  I  know — just  yet." 

"  I  wish  you  would  do  something  soon  .  .  ." 

"  What's  the  hurry?  "  interrupted  Lingard.  "  He 
can't  get  away.  As  it  stands  he  is  at  my  mercy,  as  far 
as  I  can  see." 

''  Yes,"  said  Almayer,  reflectively — ''  and  very  little 
mercy  he  deserves  too.  Abdulla's  meaning — as  I  can 
make  it  out  amongst  all  those  compliments — is:  '  Get 
rid  for  me  of  that  white  man — and  we  shall  live  in 
peace  and  share  the  trade.' " 

"You  believe  that?"  asked  Lingard,  contemptu- 
ously. 

"  Not  altogether,"  answered  Almayer.  "  No  doubt 
we  will  share  the  trade  for  a  time — till  he  can  grab  the 
lot.    Well,  what  are  you  going  to  do?  " 

He  looked  up  as  he  spoke  and  was  surprised  to  see 
Lingard's  discomposed  face. 

"  You -air^'t  well.  Pain  anywhere?  "  he  asked,  with 
real  solicitude. 

"  I  have  been  queer — you  know — these  last  few 
days,  but  no  pain."  He  struck  his  broad  chest  several 
times,  cleared  his  throat  with  a  powerful  "Hem!" 
and  repeated:  "  No.  No  pain.  Good  for  a  few  years 
yet.    But  I  am  bothered  with  all  this,  I  can  tell  you!  " 


I84  -^N  OUTCAST  OF  THE  ISLANDS. 

**  You  must  take  care  of  yourself,"  said  Almayer. 
Then  after  a  pause  he  added:  '*  You  will  see  AbduUa. 
Won't  you?" 

"  I  don't  know.  Not  yet.  There's  plenty  of  time," 
said  Lingard,  impatiently. 

"  I  wish  you  would  do  something,"  urged  Almayer, 
moodily.  "  You  know,  that  woman  is  a  perfect  nui- 
sance to  me.  She  and  her  brat!  Yelps  all  day.  And 
the  children  don't  get  on  together.  Yesterday  the 
little  devil  wanted  to  fight  with  my  Nina.  Scratched 
her  face  too.  A  perfect  savage!  Like  his  honourable 
oapa.  Yes,  really.  She  worries  about  her  husband, 
and  whimpers  from  morning  to  night.  When  she  isn't 
weeping  she  is  furious  with  me.  Yesterday  she  tor- 
mented me  to  tell  her  when  he  would  be  back,  and 
cried  because  he  was  engaged  in  such  dangerous  work. 
I  said  something  about  it  being  all  right — no  neces- 
sity to  make  a  fool  of  herself,  when  she  turned  upon 
me  like  a  wild  cat.  Called  me  a  brute,  selfish,  heart- 
less; raved  about  her  beloved  Peter  risking  his  life 
for  my  benefit,  while  I  did  not  care.  Said  I  took  ad- 
vantage of  his  generous  good-nature  to  get  him  to 
do  dangerous  work — my  work.  That  he  was  worth 
twenty  of  the  likes  of  me.  That  she  would  tell  you — 
open  your  eyes  as  to  the  kind  of  man  I  was,  and  so  on. 
That*s  what  I've  got  to  put  up  with  for  your  sake. 
You  really  might  consider  me  a  little.  I  haven't  robbed 
anybody,"  went  on  Almayer,  with  an  attempt  at  bitter 
irony — "  or  sold  my  best  friend,  but  still  you  ought 
to  have  some  pity  on  me.  It's  like  living  in  a  hot  fever. 
She  is  out  of  her  wits.  You  make  my  house  a  refuge 
for  scoundrels  and  lunatics.  It  isn't  fair.  'Pon  my 
word  it  isn't!  When  she  is  in  her  tantrums  she  is 
ridiculously  ugly  and  screeches  so — it  sets  my  teeth  on 
edge.  Thank  God !  my  wife  got  a  fit  of  the  sulks  and 
cleared  out  of  the  house.  Lives  in  a  riverside  hut  since 
that  afifair — you  know.    But  this  Willems'  wife  by  her- 


AN   OUTCAST   OF   THE   ISLANDS.  185 

self  is  almost  more  than  I  can  bear.  And  I  ask  myself 
why  should  I?  You  are  exacting  and  no  mistake. 
This  morning  I  thought  she  was  going  to  claw  me. 
Only  think!  She  wanted  to  go  prancing  about  the 
settlement.  She  might  have  heard  something  there, 
so  I  told  her  she  mustn't.  It  wasn't  safe  outside  our 
fences,  I  said.  Thereupon  she  rushes  at  me  with  her 
ten  nails  up  to  my  eyes.  *  You  miserable  man,'  she 
yells,  '  even  this  place  is  not  safe,  and  you've  sent  him 
up  this  awful  river  where  he  may  lose  his  head.  If  he 
dies  before  forgiving  me,  Heaven  will  punish  you  for 
your  crime  .  .  .'  My  crime!  I  ask  myself  sometimes 
whether  I  am  dreaming!  It  will  make  me  ill,  all  this. 
I've  lost  my  appetite  already." 

He  flung  his  hat  on  deck  and  laid  hold  of  his  hair 
despairingly.  Lingard  looked  at  him  with  sympathetic 
concern. 

"  What  did  she  mean  by  it?"  he  muttered,  thought- 
fully. 

"Mean!  She  is  crazy,  I  tell  you — and  I  will  be, 
very  soon,  if  this  lasts!  " 

"  Just  a  little  patience,  Kaspar,"  pleaded  Lingard. 
"  A  day  or  so  more." 

Relieved  or  tired  by  his  violent  outburst,  Almayer 
calmed  down,  picked  up  his  hat  and,  leaning  against 
the  bulwark,  commenced  to  fan  himself  with  it. 

"  Days  do  pass,"  he  said,  resignedly — "  but  that 
kind  of  thing  makes  a  man  old  before  his  time.  What 
is  there  to  think  about? — I  can't  imagine!  AbduUa 
says  plainly  that  if  you  undertake  to  pilot  his  ship  out 
and  instruct  the  half-caste,  he  will  drop  Willems  like 
a  hot  potato  and  be  vour  friend  ever  after.  I  believe 
him  perfectly,  as  to  Willems.  It's  so  natural.  As  to 
being  your  friend  it's  a  lie  of  course,  but  we  need  not 
bother  about  that  just  yet.  You  just  say  yes  to  Ab- 
dulla,  and  then  whatever  happens  to  Willems  will  be 
nobody's  business." 


Ig6  AN   OUTCAST  OF   THE   ISLANDS. 

He  interrupted  himself  and  remained  silent  for  a 
while,  glaring  about  with  set  teeth  and  dilated  nostrils. 

''  You  leave  it  to  me.  I'll  see  to  it  that  something 
happens  to  him,"  he  said  at  last,  with  calm  ferocity. 
Lingard  smiled  faintly. 

"  The  fellow  isn't  worth  a  shot.  Not  the  trouble 
of  it,"  he  whispered,  as  if  to  himself.  Almayer  fired 
up  suddenly. 

"  That's  what  you  think,"  he  cried.  "  You  haven't 
been  sewn  up  in  your  hammock  to  be  made  a  laugh- 
ing-stock of  before  a  parcel  of  savages.  Why!  I 
daren't  look  anybody  here  in  the  face  while  that  scoun- 
drel is  alive.    I  will  ...  I  will  settle  him." 

"  I  don't  think  you  will,"  growled  Lingard. 

"  Do  you  think  I  am  afraid  of  him?  " 

"Bless  you!  no!"  said  Lingard  with  alacrity. 
"  Afraid!  Not  you.  I  know  you.  I  don't  doubt  your 
courage.  It's  your  head,  my  boy,  your  head  that 
I  .  .  ." 

"  That's  it,"  said  the  aggrieved  Almayer.  "  Go  on. 
Why  don't  you  call  me  a  fool  at  once? " 

'*  Because  I  don't  want  to,"  burst  out  Lingard,  with 
nervous  irritability.  "  If  I  wanted  to  call  you  a  fool, 
I  would  do  so  without  asking  your  leave."  He  began 
to  walk  athwart  the  narrow  quarter-deck,  kicking 
ropes'  ends  out  of  his  way  and  growling  to  himself: 
"  Delicate  gentleman  .  .  .  what  next?  .  .  .  I've  done 
man's  work  before  you  could  toddle.  Understand 
.  .  .  say  what  I  like." 

"Well!  well!"  said  Almayer,  with  affected  resig- 
nation. "  There's  no  talking  to  you  these  last  few 
days."  He  put  on  his  hat,  strolled  to  the  gangway  and 
stopped,  one  foot  on  the  little  inside  ladder,  as  if  hesi- 
tating, came  back  and  planted  himself  in  Lingard's 
way,  compelling  him  to  stand  still  and  listen. 

"  Of  course  you  will  do  what  you  like.  You  never 
take  advice — I  know  that;  but  let  me  tell  you  that 


AN  OUTCAST   OF   THE   ISLANDS.  187 

it  wouldn't  be  honest  to  let  that  fellow  get  away  from 
here.  If  you  do  nothing,  that  scoundrel  will  leave  in 
Abdulla's  ship  for  sure.  Abdulla  will  make  use  of  him 
to  hurt  you  and  others  elsewhere.  Willems  knows  too 
much  about  your  affairs.  He  will  cause  you  lots  of 
trouble.  You  mark  my  words.  Lots  of  trouble.  To 
you — and  to  others  perhaps.  Think  of  that,  Captain 
Lingard.  That's  all  I've  got  to  say.  Now  I  must  go 
back  on  shore.  There's  lots  of  work.  We  will  begin 
loading  this  schooner  to-morrow  morning,  first  thing. 
All  the  bundles  are  ready.  If  you  should  want  me  for 
anything,  hoist  some  kind  of  flag  on  the  mainmast. 
At  night  two  shots  will  fetch  me."  Then  he  added,  in 
a  friendly  tone,  "  Won't  you  come  and  dine  in  the 
house  to-night?  It  can't  be  good  for  you  to  stew  on 
board  like  that,  day  after  day." 

Lingard  did  not  answer.  The  image  evoked  by 
Almayer;  the  picture  of  Willems  ranging  over  the 
islands  and  disturbing  the  harmony  of  the  universe 
by  robbery,  treachery,  and  violence,  held  him  silent, 
entranced — painfully  spellbound.  Almayer,  after  wait- 
ing for  a  little  while,  moved  reluctantly  towards  the 
gangway,  lingered  there,  then  sighed  and  got  over 
the  side,  going  down  step  by  step.  His  head  disap- 
peared slowly  below  the  rail.  Lingard,  who  had  been 
staring  at  him  absently,  started  suddenly,  ran  to  the 
side,  and  looking  over,  called  out — 

*'  Hey!     Kaspar!     Hold  on  a  bit!  " 

Almayer  signed  to  his  boatmen  to  cease  paddling, 
and  turned  his  head  towards  the  schooner.  The  boat 
drifted  back  slowly  abreast  of  Lingard,  nearly  along- 
side. 

"  Look  here,"  said  Lingard,  looking  down — "  I 
want  a  good  canoe  with  four  men  to-day." 

"  Do  you  want  it  now?  "  asked  Almayer. 

"No!  Catch  this  rope.  Oh,  you  clumsy  devil! 
.  .  .  No,  Kaspar,"  went  on  Lingard,  after  the  bow- 


l88  AN   OUTCAST   OF   THE   ISLANDS. 

man  had  got  hold  of  the  end  of  the  brace  he  had  thrown 
down  into  the  canoe — "  No,  Kaspar.  The  sun  is  too 
much  for  me.  And  it  would  be  better  to  keep  my  af- 
fairs quiet,  too.  Send  the  canoe — four  good  paddlers, 
mind,  and  your  canvas  chair  for  me  to  sit  in.  Send  it 
about  sunset.    D'ye  hear?" 

"  All  right,  father,"  said  Almayer,  cheerfully—"  I 
will  send  Ali  for  a  steersman,  and  the  best  men  I've 
got.     Anything  else?  " 

"  No,  my  lad.    Only  don't  let  them  be  late." 

*'  I  suppose  it's  no  use  asking  you  where  you  are 
going,"  said  Almayer,  tentatively.  ''  Because  if  it  is 
to  see  Abdulla,  I  .  .  ." 

"  I  am  not  going  to  see  Abdulla.  Not  to-day. 
Now  be  off  with  you." 

He  watched  the  canoe  dart  away  shorewards, 
waved  his  hand  in  response  to  Almayer's  nod,  and 
walked  to  the  taffrail  smoothing  out  Abdulla's  letter, 
which  he  had  pulled  out  of  his  pocket.  He  read  it 
over  carefully,  crumpled  it  up  slowly,  smiling  the  while 
and  closing  his  fingers  firmly  over  the  crackling  paper 
as  though  he  had  hold  there  of  Abdulla's  throat.  Half- 
way to  his  pocket  he  changed  his  mind,  and  flinging 
the  ball  overboard  looked  at  it  thoughtfully  as  it  spun 
round  in  the  eddies  for  a  moment,  before  the  current 
bore  it  away  down-stream,  towards  the  sea. 


PART   IV. 


The  night  was  very  dark.  For  the  first  time  in  many 
months  the  East  Coast  slept  unseen  by  the  stars  under 
a  veil  of  motionless  cloud  that,  driven  before  the  first 
breath  of  the  rainy  monsoon,  had  drifted  slowly  from 
the  eastward  all  the  afternoon;  pursuing  the  declining 
sun  with  its  masses  of  black  and  grey  that  seemed  to 
chase  the  light  with  wicked  intent,  and  with  an  omi- 
nous and  gloomy  steadiness,  as  though  conscious  of  the 
message  of  violence  and  turmoil  they  carried.  At  the 
sun's  disappearance  below  the  western  horizon,  the 
immense  cloud,  in  quickened  motion,  grappled  with 
the  glow  of  retreating  light,  and  rolling  down  to  the 
clear  and  jagged  outline  of  the  distant  mountains, 
hung  arrested  above  the  steaming  forests;  hanging 
low,  silent  and  menacing  over  the  unstirring  tree-tops ; 
withholding  the  blessing  of  rain,  nursing  the  wrath  of 
its  thunder;  undecided — as  if  brooding  over  its  own 
power  for  good  or  for  evil. 

Babalatchi,  coming  out  of  the  red  and  smoky  light 
of  his  little  bamboo  house,  glanced  upwards,  drew  in 
a  long  breath  of  the  warm  and  stagnant  air,  and  stood 
for  a  moment  with  his  good  eye  closed  tightly,  as  if 
intimidated  by  the  unwonted  and  deep  silence  of  La- 
kamba's  courtyard.  When  he  opened  his  eye  he  had 
recovered  his  sight  so  far,  that  he  could  distinguish 
the  various  degrees  of  formless  blackness  which 
marked  the  places  of  trees,  of  abandoned  houses,  of 

l8q 


190 


AN  OUTCAST  OF  THE  ISLANDS. 


riverside  bushes,  on  the  dark  background  of  the  night. 
The  careworn  sage  walked  cautiously  down  the  de- 
serted courtyard  to  the  waterside,  and  stood  on  the 
bank  listening  to  the  voice  of  the  invisible  river  that 
flowed  at  his  feet;  listening  to  the  soft  whispers,  to  the 
deep  murmurs,  to  the  sudden  gurgles  and  the  short 
hisses  of  the  swift  current  racing  along  the  bank 
through  the  hot  darkness. 

He  stood  with  his  face  turned  to  the  river,  and  it 
seemed  to  him  that  he  could  breathe  easier  with  the 
knowledge  of  the  clear  vast  space  before  him;  then, 
after  a  while,  he  leaned  heavily  forward  on  his  staflf, 
his  chin  fell  on  his  breast,  and  a  deep  sigh  was  his  an- 
swer to  the  selfish  discourse  of  the  river  that  hurried 
on  unceasing  and  fast,  regardless  of  joy  or  sorrow, 
of  suffering  and  of  strife,  of  failures  and  triumphs  that 
lived  on  its  banks.  The  brown  water  was  there,  ready 
to  carry  friends  or  enemies,  to  nurse  love  or  hate  on 
its  submissive  and  heartless  bosom,  to  help  or  to 
hinder,  to  save  life  or  give  death;  the  great  and  rapid 
river:  a  deliverance,  a  prison,  a  refuge  or  a  grave. 

Perchance  such  thoughts  as  these  caused  Babalat- 
chi  to  send  another  mournful  sigh  into  the  trailing 
mists  of  the  unconcerned  Pantai.  The  barbarous  poli- 
tician had  forgotten  the  recent  success  of  his  plottings 
in  the  melancholy  contemplation  of  a  sorrow  that  made 
the  night  blacker,  the  clammy  heat  more  oppressive, 
the  still  air  more  heavy,  the  dumb  solitude  more  sig- 
nificant of  torment  than  of  peace.  He  had  spent  the 
night  before  by  the  side  of  the  dying  Omar,  and  now, 
after  twenty-four  hours,  his  memory  persisted  in  re- 
turning to  that  low  and  sombre  reed  hut  from  which 
the  fierce  spirit  of  the  incomparably  accomplished 
pirate  took  its  flight,  to  learn  too  late,  in  a  worse  world, 
the  error  of  its  earthly  ways.  The  mind  of  the  savage 
statesman,  chastened  by  bereavement,  felt  for  a  mo- 
ment the  weight  of  his  loneliness  with  keen  percep- 


AN  OUTCAST  OF  THE  ISLANDS.  191 

tion  worthy  even  of  a  sensibility  exasperated  by  all 
the  refinements  of  tender  sentiment  that  a  glorious 
civilisation  brings  in  its  train,  among  other  blessings 
and  virtues,  into  this  excellent  world.  For  the  space 
of  about  thirty  seconds,  a  half-naked,  betel-chewing 
pessimist  stood  upon  the  bank  of  the  tropical  river, 
on  the  edge  of  the  still  and  immense  forests;  a  man 
angry,  powerless,  empty-handed,  with  a  cry  of  bitter 
discontent  ready  on  his  lips;  a  cry  that,  had  it  come 
out,  would  have  rung  through  the  virgin  solitudes  of 
the  woods,  as  true,  as  great,  as  profound,  as  any  philo- 
sophical shriek  that  ever  came  from  the  depths  of  an 
easy-chair  to  disturb  the  impure  wilderness  of  chim- 
neys and  roofs. 

For  half  a  minute  and  no  more  did  Babalatchi  face 
the  gods  in  the  sublime  privilege  of  his  revolt,  and 
then  the  one-eyed  puller  of  wires  became  himself 
again,  full  of  care  and  wisdom  and  far-reaching  plans, 
and  a  victim  to  the  tormenting  superstitions  of  his 
race.  The  night,  no  matter  how  quiet,  is  never  per- 
fectly silent  to  attentive  ears,  and  now  Babalatchi  fan- 
cied he  could  detect  in  it  other  noises  than  those  caused 
by  the  ripples  and  eddies  of  the  river.  He  turned  his 
head  sharply  to  the  right  and  to  the  left  in  succession, 
and  then  spun  round  quickly  in  a  startled  and  watch- 
ful manner,  as  if  he  had  expected  to  see  the  blind  ghost 
of  his  departed  leader  wanderin.gf  in  the  obscurity  of 
the  empty  courtyard  behind  his  back.  Nothing  there. 
Yet  he  had  heard  a  noise;  a  strange  noise!  No  doubt 
a  ghostly  voice  of  a  complaining-  and  angfry  spirit.  He 
listened.  Not  a  sound.  Reassured,  Babalatchi  made 
a  few  paces  towards  his  house,  when  a  very  human 
noise,  that  of  hoarse  coughing,  reached  him  from  the 
river.  He  stopned,  listened  attentivelv.  but  now  with- 
out any  sign  of  emotion,  and  moving  briskly  back  to 
the  waterside  stood  expectant  with  parted  lips,  trying 
to  pierce  with  his  eye  the  wavering  curtain  of  mist  that 


192 


AN  OUTCAST  OF  THE   ISLANDS. 


hung  low  over  the  water.  He  could  see  nothing,  yet 
some  people  in  a  canoe  must  have  been  very  near,  for 
he  heard  words  spoken  in  an  ordinary  tone. 

**  Do  you  think  this  is  the  place,  AH?  I  can  see 
nothing." 

'*  It  must  be  near  here,  Tuan,"  answered  another 
voice.    *' Shall  we  try  the  banks?" 

"  No!  .  .  .  Let  drift  a  little.  If  you  go  poking 
into  the  bank  in  the  dark  you  might  stove  the  canoe 
on  some  log.  We  must  be  careful.  .  .  .  Let  drift! 
Let  drift!  .  .  .  This  does  seem  to  be  a  clearing  of 
some  sort.  We  may  see  a  light  by  and  by  from  some 
house  or  other.  In  Lakamba's  campong  there  are 
many  houses?    Hey?" 

"  A  great  number,  Tuan  ...  I  do  not  see  any 
light." 

"  Nor  I,"  grumbled  the  first  voice  again,  this  time 
nearly  abreast  of  the  silent  Babalatchi  who  looked 
uneasily  towards  his  own  house,  the  doorway  of  which 
glowed  with  the  dim  light  of  a  torch  burning  within. 
The  house  stood  end  on  to  the  river,  and  its  doorway 
faced  down-stream,  so  Babalatchi  reasoned  rapidly 
that  the  strangers  on  the  river  could  not  see  the  light 
from  the  position  their  boat  was  in  at  the  moment. 
He  could  not  make  up  his  mind  to  call  out  to  them, 
and  while  he  hesitated  he  heard  the  voices  again,  but 
now  some  way  below  the  landing-place  where  he  stood. 

*'  Nothing.  This  cannot  be  it.  Let  them  give  way, 
Ali!    Dayong  there!  " 

That  order  was  followed  by  the  splash  of  paddles, 
then  a  sudden  cry — 

"  I  see  a  light.  I  see  it!  Now  I  know  where  to 
land,  Tuan." 

There  was  more  splashing  as  the  canoe  was  pad- 
dled sharply  round  and  came  back  up-stream  close  to 
the  bank. 

"  Call  out,"  said  very  near  a  deep  voice,   which 


AN   OUTCAST   OF   THE   ISLANDS.  193 

Babalatchi  felt  sure  must  belong  to  a  white  man. 
''  Call  out — and  somebody  may  come  with  a  torch.  I 
can't  see  anything." 

The  loud  hail  that  succeeded  these  words  was 
emitted  nearly  under  the  silent  listener's  nose.  Baba- 
latchi, to  preserve  appearances,  ran  with  long  but 
noiseless  strides  half-way  up  the  courtyard,  and  only 
then  shouted  in  answer  and  kept  on  shouting  as  he 
walked  slowly  back  again  towards  the  river  bank.  He 
saw  there  an  indistinct  shape  of  a  boat,  not  quite  along' 
side  the  landing-place. 

"  Who  speaks  on  the  river? "  asked  Babalatchi, 
throwing  a  tone  of  surprise  into  his  question. 

"  A  white  man,"  answered  Lingard  from  the  canoe. 
"  Is  there  not  one  torch  in  rich  Lakamba's  campong 
to  light  a  guest  on  his  landing?  " 

"  There  are  no  torches  and  no  men.  I  am  alone 
here,"  said  Babalatchi,  with  some  hesitation. 

"Alone!"  exclaimed  Lingard.     *' Who  are  you?" 

"  Only  a  servant  of  Lakamba.  But  land,  Tuan 
Putih,  and  see  my  face.  Here  is  my  hand.  No! 
Here!  ...  By  your  mercy.  .  .  .  Ada!  .  .  .  Now  you 
are  safe." 

"  And  you  are  alone  here?"  said  Lingard,  moving 
with  precaution  a  few  steps  into  the  courtyard.  "  How 
dark  it  is,"  he  muttered  to  hinjself — "  one  would  think 
the  world  had  been  painted  blac:j<:." 

"  Yes.  Alone.  What  more  did  you  say,  Tuan? 
I  did  not  understand  your  talk." 

"  It  is  nothing.  I  expected  to  find  here  .  .  .  But 
where  are  they  all?  " 

"  What  matters  where  they  are?"  said  Babalatchi, 
gloomily.  "  Have  you  come  to  see  my  people?  The 
last  departed  on  a  long  journey — and  I  am  alone.  To- 
morrow I  go  too." 

"  I  came  to  see  a  white  man,"  said  Lingard,  walk* 
ing  on  slowly.    "  He  is  not  gone,  is  he?  " 


194 


AN   OUTCAST   OF  THE   ISLANDS. 


"No!"  answered  Babalatchi,  at  his  elbow.  "A 
man  with  a  red  skin  and  hard  eyes,"  he  went  on,  mus- 
ingly, "  whose  hand  is  strong,  and  whose  heart  is  fool- 
ish and  weak.  A  white  man  indeed  .  .  .  But  still  a 
man." 

They  were  now  at  the  foot  of  the  short  ladder  which 
led  to  the  split-bamboo  platform  surrounding  Baba- 
latchi's  habitation.  The  faint  light  from  the  doorway 
fell  down  upon  the  two  men's  faces  as  they  stood  look- 
ing at  each  other  curiously. 

"  Is  he  there?  "  asked  Lingard,  in  a  low  voice,  with 
a  wave  of  his  hand  upwards. 

Babalatchi,  staring  hard  at  his  long-expected  vis- 
itor, did  not  answer  at  once. 

"  No,  not  there,"  he  said  at  last,  placing  his  foot 
on  the  lowest  rung  and  looking  back.  "  Not  there, 
Tuan — yet  not  very  far.  Will  you  sit  down  in  my 
dwelling?  There  may  be  rice  and  fish  and  clear  water 
— not  from  the  river,  but  from  a  spring  .  .  ." 

'*  I  am  not  hungry,"  interrupted  Lingard,  curtly, 
"  and  I  did  not  come  here  to  sit  in  your  dwelling. 
Lead  me  to  the  white  man  who  expects  me.  I  have 
no  time  to  lose." 

"  The  night  is  long,  Tuan,"  went  on  Babalatchi, 
softly,  "  and  there  are  other  nights  and  other  days. 
Long.  Very  long  .  .  .  How  much  time  it  takes  for 
a  man  to  die!    O  Rajah  Laut!" 

Lingard  started. 

"  You  know  me!  "  he  exclaimed, 

"Ay — wa!  I  have  seen  your  face  and  felt  your 
hand  before — many  years  ago,"  said  Babalatchi,  hold- 
ing on  half-way  up  the  ladder,  and  bending  down  from 
above  to  peer  into  Lingard's  upturned  face.  *'  You 
do  not  remember — but  I  have  not  forgotten.  There 
are  many  men  like  me:  there  is  only  one  Rajah  Laut." 

He  climbed  with  sudden  agility  the  last  few  steps, 
and  stood  on  the  platform  waving  his  hand  invitingly 


AN  OUTCAST   OF   THE   ISLANDS. 


195 


to  Lingard,  who  followed  after  a  short  moment  of  in- 
decision. 

The  elastic  bamboo  floor  of  the  hut  bent  under  the 
heavy  weight  of  the  old  seaman,  who,  standing  within 
the  threshold,  tried  to  look  into  the  smoky  gloom  of 
the  low  dwelling.  Under  the  torch,  thrust  into  the 
cleft  of  a  stick,  fastened  at  a  right  angle  to  the  middle 
stay  of  the  ridge  pole,  lay  a  red  patch  of  light,  show- 
ing a  few  shabby  mats  and  a  corner  of  a  big  w^ooden 
chest  the  rest  of  which  was  lost  in  shadow.  In  the  ob- 
scurity of  the  more  remote  parts  of  the  house  a  lance- 
head,  a  brass  tray  hung  on  the  wall,  the  long  barrel 
of  a  gun  leaning  against  the  chest,  caught  the  stray 
rays  of  the  smoky  illumination  in  trembling  gleams 
that  wavered,  disappeared,  reappeared,  went  out,  came 
back — as  if  engaged  in  a  doubtful  struggle  with  the 
darkness  that,  lying  in  wait  in  distant  corners,  seemed 
to  dart  out  viciously  towards  its  feeble  enemy.  The 
vast  space  under  the  high  pitch  of  the  roof  was  filled 
with  a  thick  cloud  of  smoke,  whose  under-side — level 
like  a  ceiling — reflected  the  light  of  the  swaying  dull 
flame,  while  at  the  top  it  oozed  out  through  the  im- 
perfect thatch  of  dried  palm  leaves.  An  indescribable 
and  complicated  smell,  made  up  of  the  exhalation  of 
damp  earth  below,  of  the  taint  of  dried  fish  and  of  the 
efifluvia  of  rotting  vegetable  matter,  pervaded  the  place 
and  caused  Lingard  to  sniff  strongly  as  he  strode  over, 
sat  on  the  chest,  and,  leaning  his  elbows  on  his  knees, 
took  his  head  between  his  hands  and  stared  at  the  door- 
way thoughtfully. 

Babalatchi  moved  about  in  the  shadows,  whisper- 
ing to  an  indistinct  form  or  two  that  flitted  about  at 
the  far  end  of  the  hut.  There  was  a  noiseless  vibration 
of  cautious  footsteps,  subdued  exclamations,  a  sigh, 
an  impatient  louder  word,  directly  repressed — then  si- 
lence in  which  the  breathing  of  several  persons  was 
distinctly  audible  to  Lingard.      Without  stirring  he 


iq6  an  outcast  of  the  islands. 

glanced  sideways,  and  caught  sight  of  muffled-up  hu- 
man shapes  that  hovered  for  a  moment  near  the  edge 
of  Hght  and  retreated  suddenly  back  into  the  darkness. 
Babalatchi  approached,  and  sat  at  Lingard's  feet  on  a 
rolled-up  bundle  of  mats. 

*'  Will  you  eat  rice  and  drink  sagueir?  "  he  said. 
"  I  have  waked  up  my  household." 

"  My  friend,"  said  Lingard,  without  looking  at  him, 
"  when  I  come  to  see  Lakamba,  or  any  of  Lakamba's 
■servants,  I  am  never  hungry  and  never  thirsty.  Tau! 
Savee!  Never!  Do  you  think  I  am  devoid  of  reason? 
That  there  is  nothing  there?" 

He  sat  up,  and,  fixing  abruptly  his  eyes  on  Baba- 
latchi, tapped  his  own  forehead  significantly. 

*'Tse!  Tse!  Tse!  How  can  you  talk  like  that, 
Tuanl"  exclaimed  Babalatchi,  in  a  horrified  tone. 

"  I  talk  as  I  think.  I  have  lived  many  years,"  said 
Lingard,  stretching  his  arm  negligently  to  take  up  the 
gun,  which  he  began  to  examine  knowingly,  cocking 
it,  and  easing  down  the  hammer  several  times.  "  This 
is  good.    Mataram  make.     Old,  too,"  he  went  on. 

"Hai!"  broke  in  Babalatchi,  eagerly.  "I  got  it 
when  I  was  young.  He  was  an  Aru  trader,  a  man  with 
a  big  stomach  and  a  loud  voice,  and  brave — very  brave. 
When  we  came  up  with  his  prau  in  the  grey  morning, 
he  stood  aft  shouting  to  his  men  and  fired  this  gun 
at  us  once.  Only  once!"  ...  He  paused,  laughed 
softly,  and  went  on  in  a  low,  dreamy  voice.  "  In  the 
grey  morning  we  came  up:  forty  silent  men  in  a  swift 
Sulu  prau ;  and  when  the  sun  was  so  high  " — here  he 
held  up  his  hands  about  three  feet  apart — "  when  the 
sun  was  only  so  high,  Tuan,  our  work  was  done — and 
there  was  a  feast  ready  for  the  fishes  of  the  sea." 

"  Aye!  aye!  "  muttered  Lingard,  nodding  his  head 
slowly.  "  I  see.  You  should  not  let  it  get  rusty  like 
this,"  he  added. 

He  let  the  gun  fall  between  his  knees,  and  moving 


AN   OUTCAST   OF   THE   ISLANDS.  197 

back  on  his  seat,  leaned  his  head  against  the  wall  of 
the  hut,  crossing  his  arms  on  his  breast. 

"  A  good  gun,"  went  on  Babalatchi.  ''  Carry  far 
and  true.    Better  than  this — there." 

With  the  tips  of  his  fingers  he  touched  gently  the 
butt  of  a  revolver  peeping  out  of  the  right  pocket  of 
Lingard's  white  jacket. 

"  Take  your  hand  off,"  said  Lingard  sharply,  but 
in  a  good-humoured  tone  and  without  making  the 
slightest  movement. 

Babalatchi  smiled  and  hitched  his  seat  a  little  fur- 
ther off. 

For  some  time  they  sat  in  siknce.  Lingard,  with 
his  head  tilted  back,  looked  downwards  with  lowered 
eyelids  at  Babalatchi,  who  was  tracing  invisible  lines 
with  his  finger  on  the  mat  between  his  feet.  Outside, 
they  could  hear  Ali  and  the  other  boatmen  chattering 
and  laughing  round  the  fire  they  had  lighted  in  the  big 
and  deserted  courtyard. 

''Well,  what  about  that  white  man?"  said  Lin- 
gard, quietly. 

It  seemed  as  if  Babalatchi  had  not  heard  the  ques- 
tion. He  went  on  tracing  elaborate  patterns  on  the 
floor  for  a  good  while.  Lingard  waited  motionless. 
At  last  the  Malay  lifted  his  head. 

''  Hai!  The  white  man.  I  know! "  he  murmured 
absently.  "  This  white  man  or  another.  .  .  .  Tuan," 
he  said  aloud  with  unexpected  animation,  "  you  are  a 
man  of  the  sea?  " 

"You  know  me.  Why  ask?"  said  Lingard,  in  a 
low  tone. 

'*  Yes.  A  man  of  the  sea — even  as  we  are.  A  true 
Orang  Laut,"  went  on  Babalatchi,  thoughtfully,  "  not 
like  the  rest  of  the  white  men." 

"  I  am  like  other  whites,  and  do  not  wish  to  speak 
many  words  when  the  truth  is  short.  I  came  here  to 
see  the  white  man  that  helped  Lakamba  against  Pata- 


igS 


AN  OUTCAST  OF   THE   ISLANDS. 


lolo,  who  is  my  friend.     Show  me  where  that  white 
man  Hves;  I  want  him  to  hear  my  talk." 

"Talk  only?  Tuan!  Why  hurry?  The  night  is 
long  and  death  is  swift — as  you  ought  to  know;  you 
who  have  dealt  it  to  so  many  of  my  people.  Many 
years  ago  I  have  faced  you,  arms  in  hand.  Do  you 
not  remember?    It  was  in  Carimata — far  from  here." 

"  I  cannot  remember  every  vagabond  that  came  in 
my  way,"  protested  Lingard,  seriously. 

"  Hai!  Ha'i!"  continued  Babalatchi,  unmoved  and 
dreamy,  "  many  years  ago.  Then  all  this  " — and  look- 
ing up  suddenly  at  Lingard's  beard,  he  flourished  his 
fingers  below  his  own  beardless  chin — "  then  all  this 
was  like  gold  in  sunlight,  now  it  is  like  the  foam  of  an 
angry  sea." 

"  Maybe,  maybe,"  said  Lingard,  patiently,  paying 
the  involuntary  tribute  of  a  faint  sigh  to  the  memories 
of  the  past  evoked  by  Babalatchi's  words. 

He  had  been  living  with  Malays  so  long  and  so 
close  that  the  extreme  deliberation  and  deviousness  of 
their  mental  proceedings  had  ceased  to  irritate  him 
much.  To-night,  perhaps,  he  was  less  prone  to  im- 
patience than  ever.  He  was  disposed,  if  not  to  listen 
to  Babalatchi,  then  to  let  him  talk.  It  was  evident 
to  him  that  the  man  had  something  to  say,  and  he 
hoped  that  from  the  talk  a  ray  of  light  would  shoot 
through  the  thick  blackness  of  inexplicable  treachery, 
to  show  him  clearly — if  only  for  a  second — the  man 
upon  whom  he  would  have  to  execute  the  verdict  of 
justice.  Justice  only!  Nothing  was  further  from  his 
thoughts  than  such  an  useless  thing  as  revenge.  Jus- 
tice only.  It  was  his  dutv  that  justice  should  be  done 
— and  by  his  own  hand.  He  did  not  like  to  think  how. 
To  him,  as  to  Babalatchi,  it  seemed  that  the  night 
would  be  lone  enoueh  for  the  work  he  had  to  do.  But 
he  did  not  define  to  himself  the  nature  of  the  work,  and 
he  sat  very  still,  and  willingly  dilatory,  under  the  fear- 


AN   OUTCAST  OF  THE  ISLANDS.  199 

some  oppression  of  his  call.  What  was  the  good  to 
think  about  it?  It  was  inevitable,  and  its  time  was 
near.  Yet  he  could  not  command  his  memories  that 
came  crowding  round  him  in  that  evil-smelling  hut, 
while  Babalatchi  talked  on  in  a  flowing  monotone, 
nothing  of  him  moving  but  the  lips,  in  the  artificially 
inanimated  face.  Lingard,  like  an  anchored  ship  that 
had  broken  her  sheer,  darted  about  here  and  there  on 
the  rapid  tide  of  his  recollections.  The  subdued  sound 
of  soft  words  rang  around  him,  but  his  thoughts  were 
lost,  now  in  the  contemplation  of  the  past  sweetness 
and  strife  of  Carimata  days,  now  in  the  uneasy  wonder 
at  the  failure  of  his  judgment;  at  the  fatal  blindness 
of  accident  that  had  caused  him,  many  years  ago,  to 
rescue  a  half-starved  runaway  from  a  Dutch  ship  in 
Samarang  roads.  How  he  had  liked  the  man :  his  as- 
surance, his  push,  his  desire  to  get  on,  his  conceited 
good-humour  and  his  selfish  eloquence.  He  had  liked 
his  very  faults — those  faults  that  had  so  many,  to  him, 
sympathetic  sides.  And  he  had  always  dealt  fairly  by 
him  from  the  very  beginning;  and  he  would  deal  fairly 
by  him  now — to  the  very  end.  This  last  thought  dark- 
ened Lingard's  features  with  a  responsive  and  men- 
acing frown.  The  doer  of  justice  sat  with  compressed 
lips  and  a  heavy  heart,  while  in  the  calm  darkness  out- 
side the  silent  world  seemed  to  be  waiting  breathlessly 
for  that  justice  he  held  in  his  hand — in  his  strong  hand: 
— ready  to  strike — reluctant  to  move. 


11. 

Babalatchi  ceased  speaking.  Lingard  moved  his 
feet  a  little,  uncrossed  his  arms,  and  shook  his  head 
slowly.    The  narrative  of  the  event*  in  Sambir,  related 


200  AN   OUTCAST   OF   THE   ISLANDS. 

from  the  point  of  view  of  the  astute  statesman,  the 
sense  of  which  had  been  caught  here  and  there  by  his 
inattentive  ears,  had  been  yet  like  a  thread  to  guide 
him  out  of  the  sombre  labyrinth  of  his  thoughts;  and 
now  he  had  come  to  the  end  of  it,  out  of  the  tangled 
past  into  the  pressing  necessities  of  the  present.  With 
the  palms  of  his  hands  on  his  knees,  his  elbows  squared 
out,  he  looked  down  on  Babalatchi  who  sat  in  a  stiff 
attitude,  inexpressive  and  mute  as  a  talking  doll  the 
mechanism  of  which  had  at  length  run  down. 

"  You  people  did  all  this,"  said  Lingard  at  last, 
*'  and  you  will  be  sorry  for  it  before  the  dry  wind  be- 
gins to  blow  again.  Abdulla's  voice  will  bring  the 
Dutch  rule  here." 

Babalatchi  waved  his  hand  towards  the  dark  door- 
way. 

"  There  are  forests  there.  Lakamba  rules  the  land 
now.  Tell  me,  Tuan,  do  you  think  the  big  trees  know 
the  name  of  the  ruler?  No.  They  are  born,  they 
grow,  they  live  and  they  die — yet  know  not,  feel  not. 
It  is  their  land." 

"  Even  a  big  tree  may  be  killed  by  a  small  axe," 
said  Lingard,  drily.  *'  And,  remember,  my  one-eyed 
friend,  that  axes  are  made  by  white  hands.  You  will 
soon  find  that  out,  since  you  have  hoisted  the  flag  of 
the  Dutch." 

"  Ay — wa!  "  said  Babalatchi,  slowly.  "  It  is  writ- 
ten that  the  earth  belongs  to  those  who  have  fair  skins 
and  hard  but  foolish  hearts.  The  farther  away  is  the 
master,  the  easier  it  is  for  the  slave,  Tuan!  You  were 
too  near.  Your  voice  rang  in  our  ears  always.  Now 
it  is  not  going  to  be  so.  The  great  Rajah  in  Batavia 
is  strong,  but  he  may  be  deceived.  He  must  speak 
very  loud  to  be  heard  here.  But  if  we  have  need  to 
shout,  then  he  must  hear  the  many  voices  that  call  for 
protection.    He  is  but  a  white  man." 

"  If  I  ever  spoke  to  Patalolo,  like  an  elder  brother, 


AN   OUTCAST   OF   THE   ISLANDS.  20I 

it  was  for  your  good — for  the  good  of  all,"  said  Lin- 
gard  with  great  earnestness. 

"  This  is  a  white  man's  talk,"  exclaimed  Babalatchi, 
with  bitter  exultation.  *'  I  know  you.  That  is  how 
you  all  talk  while  you  load  your  guns  and  sharpen 
your  swords;  and  when  you  are  ready,  then  to  those 
who  are  weak  you  say :  *  Obey  me  and  be  happy,  or 
die ! '  You  are  strange,  you  white  men.  You  think 
it  is  only  your  wisdom  and  your  virtue  and  your  hap- 
piness that  are  true.  You  are  stronger  than  the  wild 
beasts,  but  not  so  wise.  A  black  tiger  knows  when  he 
is  not  hungry — you  do  not.  He  knows  the  difference 
between  himself  and  those  that  can  speak;  you  do 
not  understand  the  difference  between  yourselves  and 
us — who  are  men.  You  are  wise  and  great — and  you 
shall  always  be  fools." 

He  threw  up  both  his  hands,  stirring  the  sleeping 
cloud  of  smoke  that  hung  above  his  head,  and  brought 
the  open  palms  on  the  flimsy  floor  on  each  side  of  his 
outstretched  legs.  The  whole  hut  shook.  Lingard 
looked  at  the  excited  statesman  curiously. 

**  Apa!  Apa!  What's  the  matter?  "  he  murmured, 
soothingly.  "  Whom  did  I  kill  here?  Where  are  my 
guns?    What  have  I  done?    What  have  I  eaten  up?  " 

Babalatchi  calmed  down,  and  spoke  with  studied 
courtesy. 

"  You,  Tuan,  are  of  the  sea,  and  more  Hke  what 
we  are.  Therefore  I  speak  to  you  all  the  words  that 
are  in  my  heart.  .  .  .  Only  once  has  the  sea  been 
stronger  than  the  Rajah  of  the  sea." 

"You  know  it;  do  you?"  said  Lingard,  with 
pained  sharpness. 

"  Hai !  We  have  heard  about  your  ship — and  some 
rejoiced.  Not  I.  Amongst  the  whites,  who  are  devils, 
you  are  a  man." 

''  Trima  kassi!  I  give  you  thanks,"  said  Lingard, 
gravely. 


202  AN   OUTCAST    OF   THE    ISLANDS. 

Babalatchi  looked  down  with  a  bashful  smile,  but 
his  face  became  saddened  directly,  and  when  he  spoke 
again  it  was  in  a  mournful  tone. 

''  Had  you  come  a  day  sooner,  Tuan,  you  would 
have  seen  an  enemy  die.  You  would  have  seen  him 
die  poor,  blind,  unhappy — with  no  son  to  dig  his  grave 
and  speak  of  his  wisdom  and  courage.  Yes;  you 
would  have  seen  the  man  that  fought  you  in  Carimata 
many  years  ago,  die  alone — but  for  one  friend.  A 
great  sight  to  you." 

''  Not  to  me,"  answered  Lingard.  *'  I  did  not  even 
remember  him  till  you  spoke  his  name  just  now.  You 
do  not  understand  us.  We  fight,  we  vanquish — and 
we  forget." 

"True,  true,"  said  Babalatchi,  with  polite  irony; 
"  you  whites  are  so  great  that  you  disdain  to  remem- 
ber your  enemies.  No !  No !  "  he  went  on,  in  the 
same  tone,  ''  you  have  so  much  mercy  for  us,  that 
there  is  no  room  for  any  remembrance.  Oh,  you  are 
great  and  good!  But  it  is  in  my  mind  that  amongst 
yourselves  you  know  how  to  remember.  Is  it  not  so, 
Tuan?" 

Lingard  said  nothing.  His  shoulders  moved  im- 
perceptibly. He  laid  his  gun  across  his  knees  and 
stared  at  the  flint  lock  absently. 

*'  Yes,"  went  on  Babalatchi,  falling  again  into  a 
mournful  mood,  ''  yes,  he  died  in  darkness.  I  sat  by 
his  side  and  held  his  hand,  but  he  could  not  see  the 
face  of  him  who  watched  the  faint  breath  on  his  lips. 
She,  whom  he  had  cursed  because  of  the  white  man, 
was  there  too,  and  wept  with  covered  face.  The 
white  man  walked  about  the  courtyard  making  many 
noises.  Now  and  then  he  would  come  to  the  door- 
way and  glare  at  us  who  mourned.  He  stared 
with  wicked  eyes,  and  then  I  was  glad  that  he  who 
was  dying  was  blind.  This  is  true  talk.  I  was  glad; 
for  a  white  man's  eyes  are  not  good  to  see  when 


AN   OUTCAST   OF   THE   ISLANDS. 


203 


the  devil  that  Hves  within  is  looking  out  through 
them." 

"  Devil!  Hey?"  said  Lingard,  half  aloud  to  him- 
self, as  if  struck  with  the  obviousness  of  some  novel 
idea.     Babalatchi  went  on: 

*'  At  the  first  hour  of  the  morning  he  sat  up — he  so 
weak — and  said  plainly  some  words  that  were  not 
meant  for  human  ears.  I  held  his  hand  tightly,  but  it 
was  time  for  the  leader  of  brave  men  to  go  amongst 
the  Faithful  who  are  happy.  They  of  my  household 
brought  a  white  sheet,  and  I  began  to  dig  a  grave  in 
the  hut  in  which  he  died.  She  mourned  aloud.  The 
white  man  came  to  the  doorway  and  shouted.  He 
was  angry.  Angry  with  her  because  she  beat  her 
breast,  and  tore  her  hair,  and  mourned  with  shrill  cries 
as  a  woman  should.  Do  you  understand  what  I  say, 
Tuan?  That  white  man  came  inside  the  hut  with 
great  fury,  and  took  her  by  the  shoulder,  and  dragged 
her  out.  Yes,  Tuan.  I  saw  Omar  dead,  and  I  saw 
her  at  the  feet  of  that  white  dog  who  has  deceived  me. 
I  saw  his  face  gray,  like  the  cold  mist  of  the  morning; 
I  saw  his  pale  eyes  looking  down  at  Omar's  daughter 
beating  her  head  on  the  ground  at  his  feet.  At  the 
feet  of  him  who  is  Abdulla's  slave.  Yes,  he  lives  by 
Abdulla's  will.  That  is  why  I  held  my  hand  while  I 
saw  all  this.  I  held  my  hand  because  we  are  now 
under  the  flag  of  the  Orang  Blanda,  and  Abdulla  can 
speak  into  the  ears  of  the  great.  We  must  not  have 
any  trouble  with  white  men.  Abdulla  has  spoken — 
and  I  must  obey." 

"That's  it,  is  it?"  growled  Lingard  in  his  mous- 
tache. Then  in  Malay,  "  It  seems  that  you  are  angry, 
O  Babalatchi!" 

"  No;  I  am  not  angry,  Tuan,"  answered  Babalat- 
chi, descending  from-the  insecure  heights  of  his  indig- 
nation into  th^  insincere  depths  of  safe  humility.  "  I 
am  not  angry .^What  am  I  to  be  angry?  I  am  only 
u 


204 


AN   OUTCAST   OF   THE   ISLANDS. 


an  Orang  Laut,  and  I  have  fled  before  your  people 
many  times.  Servant  of  this  one — protected  of  an- 
other: I  have  given  my  counsel  here  and  there  for  a 
handful  of  rice.  What  am  I,  to  be  angry  with  a  white 
man?  What  is_arig"er^  withouM;he  power  to  strike? 
But  you  whites  have  taken  all:  the  land,  the  sea,  and 
the  power  to  strike!  And  there  is  nothing  left  for  us 
in  the  islands  but  your  white  man's  justice;  your  great 
justice  that  knows  not  anger." 

He  got  up  and  stood  for  a  moment  in  the  doorway, 
sniffing  the  hot  air  of  the  courtyard,  then  turned  back 
and  leaned  against  the  stay  of  the  ridge  pole,  facing 
Lingard  who  kept  his  seat  on  the  chest.  The  torch, 
consumed  nearly  to  the  end,  burned  noisily.  Small 
explosions  took  place  in  the  heart  of  the  flame,  driving 
through  its  smoky  blaze  strings  of  hard,  round  pufTs 
of  white  smoke,  no  bigger  than  peas,  which  rolled  out 
of  doors  in  the  faint  draught  that  came  from  invisible 
cracks  of  the  bamboo  walls.  At  times  a  spark  would 
wander  hesitatingly  downwards,  die  on  the  road,  and 
add  on  the  floor-mat  at  the  foot  of  the  pole  another 
minute  black  speck  to  the  grimy  record  of  sparks  that 
went  out  before.  Round  Lingard  the  pungent  taint 
of  unclean  things  below  and  about  the  hut  grew 
heavier,  weighing  down  his  resolution  and  his  thoughts 
in  an  irresistible  numbness  of  the  brain.  He  thought 
drowsily  of  himself  and  of  that  man  who  wanted  to 
see  him — who  waited  to  see  him.  Who  waited!  Night 
and  dav.  Waited.  ...  A  spiteful  but  vaporous  idea 
floated  through  his  brain  that  such  waiting  could  not 
be  very  pleasant  to  the  fellow.  Well,  let  him  wait. 
He  would  see  him  soon  enough.  And  for  how  long? 
Five  seconds — five  minutes — say  nothing — say  some- 
thing. What?  No!  Just  give  him  time  to  take  one 
good  look,  and  then  .  .  . 

Suddenlv  Babalatchi  beean  to  speak  in  a  soft  voice. 
Lingard  blinked,  cleared  his  throat — sat  up  straight. 


AN  OUTCAST  OF   THE   ISLANDS. 


205 


''  You  know  all  now,  Tuan.  Lakamba  dwells  in 
the  stockaded  house  of  Patalolo;  AbduUa  has  begun 
to  build  godowns  of  plank  and  stone;  and  now  that 
Omar  is  dead,  I  myself  shall  depart  from  this  place 
and  live  with  Lakamba  and  speak  in  his  ear.  I  have 
served  many.  The  best  of  them  all  sleeps  in  the 
ground  in  a  white  sheet,  with  nothing  to  mark  his 
grave  but  the  ashes  of  the  hut  in  which  he  died.  Yes, 
Tuan!  the  white  man  destroyed  it  himself.  With  a 
blazing  brand  in  his  hand  he  strode  around,  shouting 
to  me  to  come  out — shouting  to  me,  who  was  throw- 
ing earth  on  the  body  of  a  great  leader.  Yes;  swear- 
ing to  me  by  the  name  of  your  God  and  ours  that  he 
would  burn  me  and  her  in  there  if  we  did  not  make 
haste.  .  .  .  Hai!  The  white  men  are  very  masterful 
and  wise.     I  dragged  her  out  quickly!" 

"  Oh,  damn  it!  "  exclaimed  Lingard — then  went 
on  in  Malay,  speaking  earnestly.  ''  Listen.  That  man 
is  not  like  other  white  men.  You  know  he  is  not.  He 
is  not  a  man  at  all.     He  is  ...  I  don't  know." 

Babalatchi  lifted  his  hand  deprecatingly.  His  eye 
twinkled,  and  his  red-stained  big  lips,  parted  by  an 
expressionless  grin,  uncovered  a  stumpy  row  of  black 
teeth  filed  evenly  to  the  gums. 

*'Hai!  Hai!  Not  like  you.  Not  like  you,"  he 
said,  increasing  the  softness  of  his  tones  as  he  neared 
the  object  uppermost  in  his  mind  during  that  much- 
desired  interview.  '*  Not  like  you,  Tuan,  who  are  like 
ourselves,  only  wiser  and  stronger.  Yet  he,  also,  is 
full  of  great  cunning,  and  speaks  of  you  without  any 
respect,  after  the  manner  of  white  men  when  they  talk 
of  one  another." 

Lingard  leaped  in  his  seat  as  if  he  had  been 
prodded. 

*'  He  speaks!    What  does  he  say?"  he  shouted. 

"  Nay,  Tuan,"  protested  the  composed  Babalatchi; 
"  what  matters  his  talk  if  he  is  not  a  man?    I  am  noth- 


2o6  AN   OUTCAST  OF   THE  ISLANDS. 

ing  before  you — why  should  I  repeat  words  of  one 
white  man  about  another?  He  did  boast  to  Abdulla 
of  having  learned  much  from  your  wisdom  in  years 
past.  Other  words  I  have  forgotten.  Indeed,  Tuan, 
I  have  .  .  ." 

Lingard  cut  short  Babalatchi's  protestations  by  a 
contemptuous  wave  of  the  hand  and  reseated  himself 
with  dignity. 

''  I  shall  go,"  said  Babalatchi,  "  and  the  white  man 
will  remain  here,  alone  with  the  spirit  of  the  dead  and 
with  her  who  has  been  the  delight  of  his  heart.  He, 
being  white,  cannot  hear  the  voice  of  those  that  died. 
.  .  .  Tell  me,  Tuan,"  he  went  on,  looking  at  Lingard 
with  curiosity — "  tell  me,  Tuan,  do  you  white  people 
ever  hear  the  voices  of  the  invisible  ones?  " 

"  We  do  not,"  answered  Lingard,  "  because  those 
that  we  cannot  see  do  not  speak." 

"  Never  speak!  And  never  complain  with  sounds 
that  are  not  words?"  exclaimed  Babalatchi,  doubt- 
ingly.  "  It  may  be  so — or  your  ears  are  dull.  We 
Malays  hear  many  sounds  near  the  places  where  men 
are  buried.  To-night  I  heard  .  .  .  Yes,  even  I  have 
heard.  ...  I  do  not  want  to  hear  any  more,"  he  added, 
nervously.  ■''  Perhaps  I  was  wrong  when  I  .  .  .  There 
are  things  I  regret.  The  trouble  was  heavy  in  his 
heart  when  he  died.  Sometimes  I  think  I  was  wrong 
.  .  .  but  I  do  not  want  to  hear  the  complaint  of  in- 
visible lips.  Therefore  I  go,  Tuan.  Let  the  unquiet 
spirit  speak  to  his  enemy  the  white  man  who  knows 
not  fear,  or  love,  or  mercy — knows  nothing  but  con- 
tempt and  violence.  I  have  been  wrong!  I  have! 
Hai!    Hai!" 

He  stood  for  awhile  with  his  elbow  in  the  palm  of 
his  left  hand,  the  fingers  of  the  other  over  his  lips  as 
if  to  stifle  the  expression  of  inconvenient  remorse^  ^ 
then  after  glancing  at  the  torch,  burnt  out  nearly  to 
its  end,  he  moved  towards  the  wall  by  the  chest,  fum- 


AN  OUTCAST  OF  THE  ISLANDS.  207 

bled  about  there  and  suddenly  flung  open  a  large  shut- 
ter of  attaps  woven  in  a  light  framework  of  sticks. 
Lingard  swung  his  legs  quickly  round  the  corner  of 
his  seat. 

"Hallo!"  he  said,  surprised. 

The  cloud  of  smoke  stirred,  and  a  slow  wisp  curled 
out  through  the  new  opening.  The  torch  flickered, 
hissed,  and  went  out,  the  glowing  end  falling  on  the 
mat,  whence  Babalatchi  snatched  it  up  and  tossed  it 
outside  through  the  open  square.  It  described  a  van- 
ishing curve  of  red  light,  and  lay  below,  shining  feebly 
in  the  vast  darkness.  Babalatchi  remained  with  his 
arm  stretched  out  into  the  empty  night. 

"  There,"  he  said,  "  you  can  see  the  white  man's 
courtyard,  Tuan,  and  his  house." 

''  I  can  see  nothing,"  answered  Lingard,  putting 
his  head  through  the  shutter-hole.     "  It's  too  dark." 

"  Wait,  Tuan,"  urged  Babalatchi.  "  You  have 
been  looking  long  at  the  burning  torch.  You  will  soon 
see.    Mind  the  gun,  Tuan.     It  is  loaded." 

"  There  is  no  flint  in  it.  You  could  not  find  a  fire- 
stone  for  a  hundred  miles  round  this  spot,"  said  Lin- 
gard, testily.     "  Foolish  thing  to  load  that  gun." 

''  I  have  a  stone.  I  had  it  from  a  man  wise  and 
pious  that  lives  in  Menang  Kabau.  A  very  pious  man 
— very  good  fire.  He  spoke  words  over  that  stone 
that  make  its  sparks  good.  And  the  gun  is  good — 
carries  straight  and  far.  Would  carry  from  here  to 
the  door  of  the  white  man's  house,  I  believe,  Tuan." 

"  Tida  apa.  Never  mind  your  gun,"  muttered  Lin- 
gard, peering  into  the  formless  darkness.  "  Is  that 
the  house — that  black  thing  over  there?"  he  asked. 

"  Yes,"  answered  Babalatchi ;  "  that  is  his  house. 
He  lives  there  by  the  will  of  Abdulla,  and  shall  live 
there  till  .  .  .  From  where  you  stand,  Tuan,  you  can 
look  over  the  fence  and  across  the  courtyard  straight 
at  the  door — at  the  door  from  which  he  comes  out 


2o8  AN  OUTCAST  OF  THE  ISLANDS. 

every  morning,  looking  like  a  man  that  had  seen  Je- 
hannum  in  his  sleep." 

Lingard  drew  his  head  in.  Babalatchi  touched  his 
shoulder  with  a  groping  hand. 

"  Wait  a  little,  Tuan.  Sit  still.  The  morning  is 
not  far  off  now — a  morning  without  sun  after  a  night 
without  stars.  But  there  will  be  light  enough  to  see 
the  man  who  said  not  many  days  ago  that  he  alone 
has  made  you  less  than  a  child  in  Sambir." 

He  felt  a  slight  tremor  under  his  hand,  but  took  it 
off  directly  and  began  feeling  all  over  the  lid  of  the 
chest,  behind  Lingard's  back,  for  the  gun. 

"What  are  you  at?"  said  Lingard,  impatiently. 
*'  You  do  worry  about  that  rotten  gun.  You  had 
better  get  a  light." 

"  A  light!  I  tell  you,  Tuan,  that  the  light  of  heaven 
is  very  near,"  said  Babalatchi,  who  had  now  obtained 
possession  of  the  object  of  his  solicitude,  and  grasp- 
ing it  strongly  by  its  long  barrel,  grounded  the  stock 
at  his  feet. 

''  Perhaps  it  is  near,"  said  Lingard,  leaning  both 
his  elbows  on  the  lower  cross-piece  of  the  primitive 
window  and  looking  out.  "  It  is  very  black  outside 
yet,"  he  remarked  carelessly. 

Babalatchi  fidgeted  about. 

"  It  is  not  good  for  you  to  sit  where  you  may  be 
seen,"  he  muttered. 

"Why  not?"  asked  Lingard. 

"  The  white  man  sleeps,  it  is  true,"  explained  Baba- 
latchi, softly;  "  yet  he  may  come  out  early,  and  he  has 
arms." 

"Ah!  he  has  arms?"  said  Lingard. 

"Yes;  a  short  gun  that  fires  many  times — like 
yours  here.    Abdulla  had  to  give  it  to  him." 

Lingard  heard  Babalatchi's  words,  but  made  no 
movement.  To  the  old  adventurer  the  idea  that  fire- 
arms could  be  dangerous  in  other  hands  than  his  own 


AN   OUTCAST   OF   THE   ISLANDS. 


209 


did  not  occur  readily,  and  certainly  not  in  connection 
with  Willeras.  He  was  so  busy  with  the  thoughts 
about  what  he  considered  his  own  sacred  duty,  that 
le  could  not  give  any  consideration  to  the  probable 
actions  of  the  man  of  whom  he  thought — as  one  may 
think  of  an  executed  criminal — with  wondering  in- 
dignation tempered  by  scornful  pity.  While  he  sat 
staring  into  the  darkness,  that  every  minute  grew 
thinner  before  his  pensive  eyes,  like  a  dispersing  mist, 
Willems  appeared  to  him  as  a  figure  belonging  already 
wholly  to  the  past — a  figure  that  could  come  in  no  way 
into  his  life  again.  He  had  made  up  his  mind,  and 
the  thing  was  as  well  as  done.  In  his  weary  thoughts 
he  had  closed  this  fatal,  inexplicable,  and  horrible  epi- 
sode in  his  life.  The  worst  had  happened.  The  com- 
ing days  would  see  the  retribution. 

He  had  removed  an  enemy  once  or  twice  before, 
out  of  his  path;  he  had  paid  ofif  some  very  heavy 
scores  a  good  many  times.  Captain  Tom  had  been  a 
good  friend  to  many :  but  it  was  generally  understood, 
from  Honolulu  round  about  to  Diego  Suarez,  that 
Captain  Tom's  enmity  was  rather  more  than  any  man 
single-handed  could  easily  manage.  He  would  not, 
as  he  said  often,  hurt  a  fly  as  long  as  the  fly  left  him 
alone ;  y,et_ajTiajn,,d©es--r^t-4iv€-4oi^£ars  beyond  -the 
^le  of  civilised  laws  without  evolving  for  himself  some 
qiieePn2iQn&_iaf-44istice.  Nobody  of  those  he  knew 
nadever  cared  to  point  out  to  him  the  errors  of  his 
conceptions.  It  was  not  worth  anybody's  while  to  run 
counter  to  Lingard's  ideas  of  the  fitness  of  things — 
that  fact  was  acquired  to  the  floating  wisdom  of  the 
South  Seas,  of  the  Eastern  Archipelago,  and  was  no- 
where better  understood  than  in  out-of-the-way  nooks 
of  the  world;  in  those  nooks  which  he  filled,  unre- 
sisted and  masterful,  with  the  echoes  of  his  noisy  pres- 
ence. There  is  not  much  use  in  arguing  with  a  man 
who  boasts  of  never  having  regretted  a  single  action 


^^ 

2IO  AN   OUTCAST   OF   THE   ISLANDS. 

of  his  life,  whose  answer  to  a  mild  criticism  is  a  good- 
natured  shout — "  You  know  nothing  about  it.  I 
would  do  it  again.  Yes,  sir!"  His  associates  and 
his  acquaintances  accepted  him,  his  opinions,  his 
actions  like  things  preordained  and  unchangeable; 
looked  upon  his  many-sided  manifestations  with  pas- 
sive wonder  not  unmixed  with  that  admiration  which 
is  only  the  rightful  due  of  a  successful  man.  But  no- 
body had  ever  seen  him  in  the  mood  he  was  in  now. 
Nobody  had  seen  Lingard  doubtful  and  giving  way 
to  doubt,  unable  to  make  up  his  mind  and  unwilling 
to  act;  Lingard  timid  and  hesitating  one  minute, 
angry  yet  inactive  the  next;  Lingard  puzzled,  in  a 
word,  because  confronted  with  a  situation  that  dis- 
composed him  by  its  unprovoked  malevolence,  by  its 
ghastly  injustice,  that  to  his  rough  but  unsophisticated 
palate  tasted  distinctly  of  sulphurous  fumes  from  the 
deepest  hell. 

He  had  never  thought  about  a  line  of  conduct  so 
much  in  his  life — thought  so  bitterly  and  to  so  little 
purpose.  He  could  understand  a  thief,  a  murderer,  a 
liar,  a  pirate :  even  a  mutineer — that  greatest  sinner  of 
all — and  he  knew  how  to  deal  with  any  of  them ;  how 
to  defend  himself,  how  to  punish,  how  to  avenge  either 
his  own  wrongs  or  outraged  justice,  ^jit  _now  it 
seemed  to Jhim,thatiie-wo«Mhav^-toxor|iLQnt  the„y_ery 
devil  himself^^  and  he  ha^  almid  oX  a,  glimnier^  ^^Ji^^' 
sciousness  within  him  that  _  he  might  prove  unequal 
to  the  task.  He  felt  suddenly  old,  worn  out  and  tired 
with  his  night  travelling  and  with  Babalatchi's  talk; 
disgusted  with  mankind  and  sick  of  his  work,  past 
and  to  come.  For  the  first  time  in  his  life  he  ceased 
to  be  himself,  and  consequently  felt  profoundly  un- 
happy. 

The  smooth  darkness  filling  the  shutter-hole  grew 
paler  and  became  blotchy  with  ill-defined  shapes,  as  if 
a  new  universe  was  being  evolved  out  of  sombre  chaos 


AN   OUTCAST   OF   THE   ISLANDS.  2II 

Then  outlines  came  out,  defining  forms  without  any 
details,  indicating  here  a  tree,  there  a  bush;  a  black 
belt  of  forest  far  off;  the  straight  lines  of  a  house,  the 
ridge  of  a  high  roof  near  by.  Inside  the  hut,  Baba- 
latchi,  who  lately  had  been  only  a  persuasive  voice, 
became  a  human  shape  leaning  its  chin  imprudently 
on  the  muzzle  of  a  gun  and  rolling  an  uneasy  eye  over 
the  reappearing  world.  The  day  came  rapidly,  dismal 
and  oppressed  by  the  fog  of  the  river  and  by  the  heavy 
vapours  of  the  sky — a  day  without  colour  and  without 
sunshine:  incomplete,  disappointing,  and  sad. 

Babalatchi  twitched  gently  Lingard's  sleeve,  and 
when  the  old  seaman  had  lifted  up  his  head  interroga- 
tively, he  stretched  out  an  arm  and  a  pointing  forefin- 
ger towards  Willems'  house,  now  plainly  visible  to  the 
right  and  beyond  the  big  tree  of  the  courtyard. 

''  Look,  Tuan!  "  he  said.  "  He  lives  there.  That 
is  the  door — his  door.  Through  it  he  will  appear  soon, 
with  his  hair  in  disorder  and  his  mouth  full  of  curses. 
That  is  so.  He  is  a  white  man,  and  never  satisfied. 
It  is  in  my  mind  he  is  angry  even  in  his  sleep.  A  dan- 
gerous man.  As  Tuan  may  observe,"  he  went  on, 
obsequiously,  *'  his  door  faces  this  opening,  where  you 
condescend  to  sit,  which  is  concealed  from  all  eyes. 
Faces  it — straight — and  not  far.  Observe,  Tuan,  not 
at  all  far." 

"Yes,  yes;  I  can  see.  I  shall  see  him  when  he 
wakes." 

"  No  doubt,  Tuan.  When  he  wakes.  ...  If  you 
remain  here  he  will  not  see  you.  That  is  good.  No 
eye  will  see  you.  I  shall  withdraw  quickly  and  pre- 
pare my  canoe  myself.  I  am  only  a  poor  m.an,  and 
must  go  to  Sambir  to  greet  Lakamba  when  he  opens 
his  eyes.  I  must  bow  before  Abdulla,  who  has  strength 
— even  more  strength  than  you.  Now  if  you  remain 
here,  you  shall  easily  behold  the  man  who  boasted  to 
Abdulla  that  he  had  been  your  friend,  even  while  he 


212 


AN   OUTCAST   OF   THE   ISLANDS. 


prepared  to  fight  those  who  called  you  protector.  Yes, 
he  plotted  with  Abdulla  for  that  cursed  flag.  Lakam- 
ba  was  blind  then,  and  I  was  deceived.  But  you,  Tuan ! 
Remember,  he  deceived  you  more.  Of  that  he  boasted 
before  all  men." 

He  leaned  the  gun  quietly  against  the  wall  close  to 
the  window,  and  said  softly:  "  Shall  I  go  now,  Tuan? 
Be  careful  of  the  gun.  I  have  put  the  fire-stone  in. 
The  fire-stone  of  the  wise  man,  which  never  fails." 

Lingard's  eyes  were  fastened  on  the  distant  door- 
way. Across  his  line  of  sight,  in  the  grey  emptiness 
of  the  courtyard,  a  big  fruit-pigeon  flapped  languidly 
towards  the  forests  with  a  loud  booming  cry,  Hke  the 
note  of  a  deep  gong:  a  brilliant  bird  looking  in  the 
gloom  of  threatening  day  as  black  as  a  crow.  A  ser- 
ried flock  of  white  rice  birds  rose  above  the  trees  with 
a  faint  scream,  and  hovered,  swaying  in  a  disordered 
mass  that  suddenly  scattered  in  all  directions,  as  if 
burst  asunder  by  a  silent  explosion.  Behind  his  back 
Lingard  heard  a  shuffle  of  feet — women  leaving  the 
hut.  In  the  other  courtyard  a  voice  was  heard  com- 
plainino^  of  cold,  and  coming  very  feeble,  but  exceed- 
ingly distinct,  out  of  the  vast  silence  of  the  abandoned 
houses  and  clearings.  Babalatchi  coughed  discreetly. 
From  under  the  house  the  thumping  of  wooden  pestles 
husking  the  rice  started  with  unexpected  abruptness. 
The  weak  but  clear  voice  in  the  yard  again  urged, 
"  Blow  up  the  embers,  O  brother!  "  Another  voice 
answered,  drawling  in  modulated,  thin  sing-song, 
**  Do  it  yourself,  O  shivering  pig!"  and  the  drawl  of 
the  last  word  stopped  short,  as  if  the  man  had  fallen 
into  a  deep  hole.  Babalatchi  coughed  again  a  little 
impatiently,  and  said  in  a  confidential  tone — 

*'  Do  you  think  it  is  time  for  me  to  go,  Tuan? 
Will  you  take  care  of  my  gun,  Tuan?  I  am  a  man 
that  knows  how  to  obey;  even  obey  Abdulla,  who  has 
deceived  me.     Nevertheless  this  gun  carries  far  and 


AN  OUTCAST  OF   THE   ISLANDS. 


213 


true — if  you  would  want  to  know,  Tuan.  And  I  have 
put  in  a  double  measure  of  powder  and  three  slugs. 
Yes,  Tuan.     Now — perhaps — I  go." 

When  Babalatchi  commenced  speaking,  Lingard 
turned  slowly  round  and  gazed  upon  him  with  the  dull 
and  unwilling  look  of  a  sick  man  waking  to  another 
day  of  suffering.  As  the  astute  statesman  proceeded, 
Lingard's  eyebrows  came  close,  his  eyes  became  ani- 
mated, and  a  big  vein  stood  out  on  his  forehead,  ac- 
centuating a  lowering  frown.  When  speaking  his  last 
words  Babalatchi  faltered,  then  stopped,  confused,  be- 
fore the  steady  gaze  of  the  old  seaman, 

Lingard  rose.  His  face  cleared,  and  he  looked 
down  at  the  anxious  Babalatchi  with  sudden  benevo- 
lence. 

'*  So!  That's  what  you  were  after,"  he  said,  laying 
a  heavy  hand  on  Babalatchi's  yielding  shoulder.  "  You 
thought  I  came  here  to  murder  him.  Hey?  Speak! 
You  faithful  dog  of  an  Arab  trader!  " 

"And  what  else,  Tuan?"  shrieked  Babalatchi, 
exasperated  into  sincerity.  "  What  else,  Tuan!  Re- 
member what  he  has  done ;  he  poisoned  our  ears  with 
his  talk  about  you.  You  are  a  man.  If  you  did  not 
come  to  kill,  Tuan,  then  either  I  am  a  fool  or  .  .  ." 
He  paused,  struck  his  naked  breast  with  his  open  palm, 
and  finished  in  a  discouraged  whisper — "  or,  Tuan, 
you  are." 

Lingard  looked  down  at  him  with  scornful  seren- 
ity. After  his  long  and  painful  gropings  amongst  the 
obscure  abominations  of  Willems'  conduct,  the  logical 
if  tortuous  evolutions  of  Babalatchi's  diplomatic  mind 
were  to  him  welcome  as  daylight.  There  was  some- 
thing at  last  he  could  understand — the  clear  effect  of  a 
simple  cause.  He  felt  indulgent  towards  the  disap- 
pointed sage. 

"  So  you  are  angry  with  your  friend,  O  one-eyed 
one! "  he  said  slowly,  nodding  his  fierce  countenance 


214  AN  OUTCAST   OF   THE  ISLANDS. 

close  to  Babalatchi's  discomfited  face.  "  It  seems  to 
me  that  you  must  have  had  much  to  do  with  what 
happened  in  Sambir  lately.  Hey?  You  son  of  a  burnt 
father." 

"  May  I  perish  under  your  hand,  O  Rajah  of  the 
sea,  if  my  words  are  not  true!  "  said  Babalatchi,  with 
reckless  excitement.  "  You  are  here  in  the  midst  of 
your  enemies.  He  the  greatest.  Abdulla  would  do 
nothing  without  him,  and  I  could  do  nothing  without 
Abdulla.    Strike  me — so  that  you  strike  all !  " 

"  Who  are  you,"  exclaimed  Lingard,  contemptu- 
ously— "  who  are  you  to  dare  call  yourself  my  enemy! 
Dirt!  Nothing!  Go  out  first,"  he  went  on  severely. 
**  Lakas!  quick.     March  out!" 

He  pushed  Babalatchi  through  the  doorway  and 
followed  him  down  the  short  ladder  into  the  court- 
yard. The  boatmen  squatting  over  the  fire  turned 
their  slow  eyes  with  apparent  difficulty  towards  the 
two  men;  then,  unconcerned,  huddled  close  together 
again,  stretching  forlornly  their  hands  over  the  em- 
bers. The  women  stopped  in  their  work  and  with  up- 
lifted pestles  flashed  quick  and  curious  glances  from 
the  gloom  under  the  house. 

*'  Is  that  the  way?"  asked  Lingard  with  a  nod  of 
his  head  towards  the  little  wicket-gate  of  Willems'  en- 
closure. 

'*  If  you  seek  death,  that  is  surely  the  way,"  an- 
swered Babalatchi  in  a  dispassionate  voice,  as  if  he  had 
exhausted  all  the  emotions.  "  He  lives  there :  he  who 
destroyed  your  friends;  who  hastened  Omar's  death; 
who  plotted  with  Abdulla  first  against  you,  then 
against  me.  I  have  been  like  a  child.  O  shame!  .  .  . 
But  go,  Tuan.    Go  there." 

"  I  go  where  I  like,"  said  Lingard,  emphatically, 
"  and  you  may  go  to  the  devil ;  I  do  not  want  you  any 
more.  The  islands  of  these  seas  will  sink  before  I, 
Rajah  Laut,  serve  the  will  of  any  of  your  people.    Tau? 


AN  OUTCAST   OF   THE   ISLANDS.  215 

But  I  tell  you  this:  I  do  not  care  what  you  do  with 
him  after  to-day.  And  I  say  that  because  I  am  merci- 
ful" 

"  Tida!  I  do  nothing,"  said  Babalatchi,  shaking  his 
head  with  bitter  apathy.  "  I  am  in  Abdulla's  hand 
and  care  not,  even  as  you  do.  No!  no!"  he  added, 
turning  away,  "  I  have  learned  much  wisdom  this 
morning.  There  are  no  men  anywhere.  You  whites 
are  cruel  to  your  friends  and  merciful  to  your  enemies 
— which  is  the  work  of  fools." 

He  went  away  towards  the  riverside,  and,  without 
once  looking  back,  disappeared  in  the  low  bank  of  mist 
that  lay  over  the  water  and  the  shore,  Lingard  fol- 
lowed him  with  his  eyes  thoughtfully.  After  awhile 
he  roused  himself  and  called  out  to  his  boatmen — 

''  Hai — ya  there!  After  you  have  eaten  rice,  wait 
for  me  with  your  paddles  in  your  hands.    You  hear?  " 

"Ada,  Tuan!"  answered  AH  through  the  smoke 
of  the  morning  fire  that  was  spreading  itself,  low  and 
gentle,  over  the  courtyard — "we  hear!" 

Lingard  opened  slowly  the  little  wicket-gate,  made 
a  few  steps  into  the  empty  enclosure,  and  stopped.  He 
had  felt  about  his  head  the  short  breath  of  a  puff  of 
wind  that  passed  him,  made  every  leaf  of  the  big  tree 
shiver — and  died  out  in  a  hardly  perceptible  tremor  of 
branches  and  twigs.  Instinctively  he  glanced  upwards 
with  a  seaman's  impulse.  Above  him,  under  the  grey 
motionless  waste  of  a  stormy  sky,  drifted  low  black 
vapours,  in  stretching  bars,  in  shapeless  patches,  in 
sinuous  wisps  and  tormented  spirals.  Over  the  court- 
yard and  the  house  floated  a  round,  sombre,  and  lin- 
gering cloud,  dragging  behind  a  tail  of  tangled  and 
filmy  streamers — like  the  dishevelled  hair  of  a  mourn- 
ing woman. 


2i6  AN   OUTCAST   OF    THE    ISLANDS. 

III. 

"Beware!" 

The  tremulous  effort  and  the  broken,  inadequate 
tone  of  the  faint  cry,  surprised  Lingard  more  than 
the  unexpected  suddenness  of  the  warning  conveyed, 
he  did  not  know  by  whom  and  to  whom.  Besides  him- 
self there  was  no  one  in  the  courtyard  as  far  as  he 
could  see.  The  cry  was  not  renewed,  and  his  watch- 
ful eyes,  scanning  warily  the  misty  solitude  of  Willems' 
enclosure,  were  met  everywhere  only  by  the  stolid 
impassiveness  of  inanimate  things:  the  big  sombre- 
looking  tree,  the  shut-up,  sightless  house,  the  glisten- 
ing bamboo  fences,  the  damp  and  drooping  bushes 
further  off — all  these  things,  that  condemned  to  look 
for  ever  at  the  incomprehensible  afiflictions  or  joys  of 
mankind,  assert  in  their  aspect  of  cold  unconcern  the 
high  dignity  of  lifeless  matter  that  surrounds,  incuri- 
ous and  unmoved,  the  restless  mysteries  of  the  ever- 
changing,  of  the  never-ending  Hfe. 

Lingard,  stepping  aside,  put  the  trunk  of  the  tree 
between  himself  and  the  house,  then,  moving  cau- 
tiously round  one  of  the  projecting  buttresses,  had  to 
tread  short  in  order  to  avoid  scattering  a  small  heap  of 
black  embers  upon  which  he  came  unexpectedly  on 
the  other  side.  A  thin,  wizened,  little  old  woman, 
who,  standing  behind  the  tree,  had  been  looking  at 
the  house,  turned  towards  him  with  a  start,  gazed 
with  faded,  expressionless  eyes  at  the  intruder,  then 
made  a  Hmping  attempt  to  get  away.  She  seemed, 
however,  to  realise  directly  the  hopelessness  or  the 
difficulty  of  the  undertaking,  stopped,  hesitated,  tot- 
tered back  slowly;  then,  after  blinking  dully,  fell  sud- 
denly on  her  knees  amongst  the  white  ashes,  and, 
bending  over  the  heap  of  smouldering  coals,  distended 
her  sunken  cheeks  in  a  steady  effort  to  blow  up  the 


AN  OUTCAST  OF  THE  ISLANDS.  217 

hidden  sparks  into  a  useful  blaze.  Lingard  looked 
down  on  her,  but  she  seemed  to  have  made  up  her 
mind  that  there  was  not  enough  life  left  in  her  lean 
body  for  anything  else  than  the  discharge  of  the  simple 
domestic  duty,  and,  apparently,  she  begrudged  him  the 
least  moment  of  attention.  After  waiting  for  awhile, 
Lingard  asked — 

"  Why  did  you  call,  O  daughter?  " 

"  I  saw  you  enter,"  she  croaked  feebly,  still  grovel- 
ling with  her  face  near  the  ashes  and  without  looking 
up,  "  and  I  called — the  cry  of  warning.  It  was  her 
order.  Her  order,"  she  repeated,  with  a  moaning 
sigh. 

"  And  did  she  hear?  "  pursued  Lingard,  with  gentle 
composure. 

Her  projecting  shoulder-blades  moved  uneasily 
under  the  thin  stufif  of  the  tight  body  jacket.  She 
scrambled  up  with  difficulty  to  her  feet,  and  hobbled 
away,  muttering  peevishly  to  herself,  towards  a  pile  of 
dry  brushwood  heaped  up  against  the  fence. 

Lingard,  looking  idl>  "fter  her,  heard  the  rattle  of 
loose  planks  that  led  from  the  ground  to  the  door  of 
the  house.  He  moved  his  head  beyond  the  shelter  of 
the  tree  and  saw  Aissa  coming  down  the  inclined  way 
into  the  courtyard.  After  making  a  few  hurried  paces 
towards  the  tree,  she  stopped  with  one  foot  advanced 
in  an  appearance  of  sudden  terror,  and  her  eyes 
glanced  wildly  right  and  left.  Her  head  was  uncov- 
ered. A  blue  cloth  wrapped  her  from  her  head  to  foot 
in  close  slanting  folds,  with  one  end  thrown  over  her 
shoulder.  A  tress  of  her  black  hair  strayed  across  her 
bosom.  Her  bare  arms  pressed  down  close  to  her 
body,  with  hands  open  and  outstretched  fingers;  her 
slightly  elevated  shoulders  and  the  backward  inclina- 
tion of  her  torso  gave  her  the  aspect  of  one  defiant 
yet  shrinking  from  a  coming  blow.  She  had  closed 
the  door  of  the  house  behind  her;  and  as  she  stood 


2i8  AN   OUTCAST   OF   THE   ISLANDS. 

solitary  in  the  unnatural  and  threatening  twilight  of 
the  murky  day,  with  everything  unchanged  around 
her,  she  appeared  to  Lingard  as  if  she  had  been  made 
there,  on  the  spot,  out  of  the  black  vapours  of  the  sky 
and  of  the  sinister  gleams  of  feeble  sunshine  that  strug- 
gled, through  the  thickening  clouds,  into  the  colour* 
less  desolation  of  the  world. 

After  a  short  but  attentive  glance  towards  the  shut- 
up  house,  Lingard  stepped  out  from  behind  the  tree 
and  advanced  slowly  towards  her.  The  sudden  fixity 
of  her — till  then — restless  eyes  and  a  slight  twitch  of 
her  hands  were  the  only  signs  she  gave  at  first  of  hav- 
ing seen  him;  but  as  he  went  on,  as  if  to  pass  her  on 
his  way  to  the  house,  she  made  a  long  stride  forward, 
and  putting  herself  right  in  his  path,  stretched  her 
arms  across;  her  black  eyes  opened  wide,  her  lips 
parted  as  if  in  an  uncertain  attempt  to  speak — but  no 
sound  came  out  to  break  the  significant  silence  of  their 
meeting.  Somewhat  embarrassed,  Lingard  stopped 
and  looked  at  her  with  stern  curiosity.  After  a  while 
he  said  composedly — 

"  Let  me  pass.  I  came  here  to  talk  to  a  man.  Does 
he  hide?    Has  he  sent  you?  " 

She  made  a  step  nearer,  her  arms  fell  by  her  side, 
then  she  put  them  straight  out  nearly  touching  Lin- 
gard's  breast. 

"  He  knows  not  fear,"  she  said,  speaking  low,  with 
a  forward  throw  of  her  head,  in  a  voice  trembling  but 
distinct.  ''  It  is  my  own  fear  that  has  sent  me  here. 
He  sleeps." 

"  He  has  slept  long  enough,"  said  Lingard,  in 
measured  tones.  "  I  am  come — and  now  is  the  time 
of  his  waking.  Go  and  tell  him  this — or  else  my  own 
voice  will  call  him  up.     A  voice  he  knows  well." 

He  put  her  hands  down  firmly  and  again  made  as  if 
to  pass  by  her. 

"  Do  not!  "  she  exclaimed,  and  fell  at  his  feet  as  if 


AN  OUTCAST  OF   THE  ISLANDS.  219 

she  had  been  cut  down  by  a  scythe.  The  unexpected 
suddenness  of  her  movement  startled  Lingard,  who 
stepped  back. 

"What's  this?"  he  exclaimed  in  a  wondering 
whisper — then  added  in  a  tone  of  sharp  command: 
**  Stand  up!" 

She  rose  at  once  and  stood  looking  at  him,  obedi- 
ent and  resisting — timorous  and  fearless:  hesitating, 
as  if  she  longed  to  flee,  yet  with  a  fire  of  recklessness 
burning  in  her  eyes  that  made  clear  her  resolve  to  pur- 
sue her  purpose — even  to  the  death.  Lingard  went 
on  in  a  severe  voice — 

*'  Go  out  of  my  path.  You  are  Omar's  daughter, 
and  you  ought  to  know  that  when  men  meet  in  day- 
light women  must  be  silent  and  abide  their  fate." 

"Women!"  she  retorted,  with  subdued  vehe- 
mence. "  Yes,  I  am  a  woman!  Your  eyes  see  that, 
O  Rajah  Laut,  but  can  you  see  my  Hfe?  I  also  have 
heard — O  man  of  many  fights — I  also  have  heard  the 
voice  of  fire-arms ;  I  also  have  felt  the  rain  of  young 
twigs  and  of  leaves  cut  up  by  bullets  fall  down  about 
my  head ;  I  also  know  how  to  look  in  silence  at  angry 
faces  and  at  strong  hands  raised  high  grasping  sharp 
steel.  I  also  saw  men  fall  dead  around  me  without  a 
cry  of  fear  and  of  mourning ;  and  I  have  watched  the 
sleep  of  weary  fugitives,  and  looked  at  night  shadows 
full  of  menace  and  death  with  eyes  that  knew  nothing 
but  watchfulness.  And,"  she  went  on,  with  a  mourn- 
ful drop  in  her  voice,  "  I  have  faced  the  heartless  sea, 
held  on  my  lap  the  heads  of  those  who  died  raving 
from  thirst,  and  from  their  cold  hands  took  the  paddle 
and  worked  so  that  those  with  me  did  not  know  that 
one  man  more  was  dead.  I  did  all  this.  What  more 
have  you  done?  That  was  my  life.  What  has  been 
yours?" 

The  matter  and  the  manner  of  her  speech  held  Lin- 
gard motionless,  attentive  and  approving  against  his 


220  AN   OUTCAST   OF   THE   ISLANDS. 

will.  When  she  ceased  speaking  she  drew  a  long 
breath,  and  from  her  staring  black  eyes  that  glittered, 
big,  steady  and  round,  with  a  narrow  border  of  white 
above  and  below,  a  double  ray  of  her  very  soul 
streamed  out  in  a  fierce  desire  to  Hght  up  the  most 
obscure  designs  of  his  heart.  After  a  long  silence, 
which  served  to  emphasise  the  meaning  of  her  words, 
she  added  in  the  whisper  of  bitter  regret — 

"And  I  have  knelt  at  your  feet!  And  I  am 
afraid!" 

"  You,"  said  Lingard,  deliberately,  and  returning 

her  look  with  an  interested  gaze,  "  you  are  a  woman 

whose  heart,  I  believe,  is  great  enough  to  fill  a  man's 

breast:  but  still  you  are  a  woman,  and  to  you,  I,  Rajah 

JLaut^.aye  nothing  to  say." 

She  listened  bending  her  head  in  a  movement  of 
forced  attention;  and  his  voice  sounded  to  her  un- 
expected, far  off,  with  the  distant  and  unearthly  ring 
of  voices  that  we  hear  in  dreams,  saying  faintly  things 
startling,  cruel  or  absurd,  to  which  there  is  no  possible 
reply.  To  her  he  had  nothing  to  say!  She  wrung 
her  hands,  glanced  over  the  courtyard  with  that  eager 
and  distracted  look  that  sees  nothing,  then  looked  up 
at  the  hopeless  sky  of  livid  grey  and  drifting  black; 
at  the  unquiet  mourning  of  the  hot  and  brilliant  heaven 
that  had  seen  the  beginning  of  her  love,  that  had  heard 
his  entreaties  and  her  answers,  that  had  seen  his  desire 
and  her  fear;  that  had  seen  her  joy,  her  surrender — 
and  his  defeat.  Lingard  moved  a  little,  and  this  slight 
stir  near  her  precipitated  her  disordered  and  shapeless 
thoughts  into  hurried  words. 

"  Wait!  "  she  exclaimed  in  a  stifled  voice,  and  went 
on  disconnectedly  and  rapidly — "  Stay.  I  have  heard. 
Men  often  spoke  by  the  fires  .  .  .  men  of  my  people. 
And  they  said  of  you — the  first  on  the  sea — they  said 
that  to  men's  cries  you  were  deaf  in  battle,  but  after 
,  .  .  No !  even  while  you  fought,  your  ears  were  open 


AN   OUTCAST   OF   THE   ISLANDS.  221 

to  the  voice  of  children  and  women.  They  said  .  .  . 
that.    Now  I,  a  woman,  I  .  .  ." 

She  broke  off  suddenly  and  stood  before  him  with 
dropped  eyelids  and  parted  lips,  so  still  now  that  she 
seemed  to  have  been  changed  into  a  breathless,  an  un- 
hearing,  an  unseeing  figure,  without  knowledge  of 
fear  or  hope,  of  anger  or  despair.  In  the  astounding 
repose  that  came  on  her  face  unexpected,  desperate 
and  firm,  nothing  moved  but  the  delicate  nostrils  that 
expanded  and  collapsed  quickly,  fiutteringly,  in  inter- 
rupted beats,  like  the  wings  of  a  snared  bird. 

"  I  am  white,"  said  Lingard,  proudly,  looking  at 
her  with  a  steady  gaze  where  simple  curiosity  was  giv- 
ing way  to  a  pitying  annoyance,  "  and  men  you  have 
heard,  spoke  only  what  is  true  over  the  evening  fires. 
My  ears  are  open  to  your  prayer.  But  listen  to  me 
before  you  speak.  For  yourself  you  need  not  be  afraid. 
You  can  come  even  now  with  me  and  you  shall  find 
refuge  in  the  household  of  Syed  Abdulla — who  is  of 
your  own  faith.  And  this  also  you  must  know :  noth- 
ing that  you  may  say  will  change  my  purpose  towards 
the  man  who  is  sleeping — or  hiding — in  that  house." 

Again  she  gave  him  the  look  that  was  like  a  stab, 
not  of  anger  but  of  desire;  of  the  intense,  overpower- 
ing desire  to  see  in,  to  see  through,  to  understand 
everything:  every  thought,  emotion,  purpose;  every 
impulse,  every  hesitation  inside  that  man;  inside  that 
white-clad  foreign  being  who  looked  at  her,  who  spoke 
to  her,  who  breathed  before  her  like  any  other  man, 
but  bigger,  red-faced,  white-haired  and  mysterious. 
It  was  the  future  clothed  in  flesh;  the  to-morrow;  the 
day  after;  all  the  days,  all  the  years  of  her  life  standing 
there  before  her  alive  and  secret,  with  all  their  good 
or  evil  shut  up  within  the  breast  of  that  man;  of  that 
man  who  could  be  persuaded,  cajoled,  entreated,  per- 
haps touched,  worried;  frightened — who  knows? — if 
only  first  he  could  be  understood!     She  had  seen  a 


\ 


222  AN  OUTCAST  OF   THE   ISLANDS. 

long  time  ago  whither  events  were  tending.  She  had 
noted  the  contemptuous  yet  menacing  coldness  of  Ab- 
dulla;  she  had  heard — alarmed  yet  unbelieving— 
Babalatchi's  gloomy  hints,  covert  allusions  and  veiled 
suggestions  to  abandon  the  useless  white  man  whose 
fate  would  be  the  price  of  the  peace  secured  by  the  wise 
and  good  who  had  no  need  of  him  any  more.  And  he 
— himself!  She  clung  to  him.  There  was  nobody  else. 
Nothing  else.  She  would  try  to  cling  to  him  always 
— all  the  life!  And  yet  he  was  far  from  her.  Further 
every  day.  Every  day  he  seemed  more  distant,  and 
she  followed  him  patiently,  hopefully,  blindly,  but 
steadily,  through  all  the  devious  wanderings  of  his 
mind.  She  followed  as  well  as  she  could.  Yet  at  times 
— very  often  lately — she  had  felt  lost  like  one  strayed 
in  the  thickets  of  tangled  undergrowth  in  the  great 
forest — pushing  on  till  he  can  go  no  further,  and  held 
at  last  in  the  maze  of  branches  and  creepers,  seeing 
nothing  but  thick  leaves,  tough  green  twigs,  obstinate 
tendrils,  clinging  parasites;  seeing  all  the  interlaced 
confusion  of  those  many  things  close  before  his  eyes 
— yet  unable  to  see  the  ground  on  which  he  stands. 
She  was  like  one  lost  in  a  wilderness  impenetrable  and 
heavy,  in  a  wilderness  devoid  of  hope  but  full  of  sur- 
prises; one  held  captive  amongst  the  restlessness  of 
unseen  forces  that  are  silent  and  destructive,  danger- 
ous and  indifferent,  incomprehensible  and  strong.  To 
her  the  ex-clerk  of  old  Hudig  appeared  as  remote,  as 
brilliant,  as  terrible,  as  necessary,  as  the  sun  that  gives 
life  to  these  lands:  the  sun  of  unclouded  skies  that 
dazzles  and  withers;  the  sun  beneficent  and  wicked 
— the  giver  of  light,  perfume,  and  pestilence.  She  had 
watched  him — watched  him  close;  fascinated  by  love, 
fascinated  by  danger.  He  was  alone  now — but  for  her; 
and  she  saw — she  thought  she  saw — that  he  was  like  a 
man  afraid  of  something.  Was  it  possible?  He  afraid? 
Of  what?   Was  it  oTthat  old  white  man  who  was  com- 


AN  OUTCAST  OF  THE   ISLANDS.  223 

ing?  Who  had  come!  Possibly.  She  had  heard  of 
that  man  ever  since  she  could  remember.  The  bravest 
were  afraid  of  him!  And  now  what  was  in  the  mind 
of  this  old,  old  man  who  looked  so  strong?  What 
was  he  going  to  do  with  the  light  of  her  Hfe?  Put  it 
out?  Take  it  away?  Take  it  away  for  ever! — for 
ever! — and  leave  her  in  darkness: — not  in  the  stirring, 
whispering,  expectant  night  in  which  the  hushed  world 
awaits  the  return  of  sunshine;  but  in  the  night  with- 
out end,  the  night  of  the  grave,  where  nothing 
breathes,  nothing  moves,  nothing  thinks — the  last 
darkness  of  cold  and  silence  without  hope  of  another 
sunrise. 

She  cried — "Your  purpose!  You  know  nothing. 
I  must  .  .  ." 

He  interrupted — unreasonably  excited,  as  if  she 
had,  by  her  look,  inoculated  him  with  some  of  her  own 
distress. 

"  I  know  enough." 

She  approached,  and  stood  facing  him  at  arm's 
length,  with  both  her  hands  on  his  shoulders;  and 
he,  surprised  by  that  audacity,  closed  and  opened  his 
eyes  two  or  three  times,  aware  of  some  emotion  aris- 
ing within  him,  from  her  words,  her  tone,  her  contact; 
an  emotion  unknown,  singular,  penetrating  and  sad 
— at  the  close  sight  of  that  strange  woman,  of  that 
being  savage  and  tender,  strong  and  delicate,  fearful 
and  resolute,  that  had  got  entangled  so  fatally  between 
their  two  lives — his  own  and  that  other  white  man's, 
the  abominable  scoundrel. 

''How  can  you  know?"  she  went  on,  in  a  per- 
suasive tone  that  seemed  to  flow  out  of  her  verv  heart 
• — "  how  can  you  know?  I  live  with  him  all  the  days. 
All  the  nights.  I  look  at  him;  I  see  his  everv  breath, 
every  glance  of  his  eye,  every  movement  of  his  lips. 
I  see  nothing  else!  What  else  is  there?  And  even 
I  do  not  understand.    I  do  not  understand  him ! — Him  I 


224 


AN   OUTCAST   OF   THE    ISLANDS. 


— My  life!  Him  who  to  me  is  so  great  that  his 
presence  hides  the  earth  and  the  water  from  my 
sight!" 

Lingard  stood  straight,  with  his  hands  deep  in  the 
pockets  of  his  jacket.  His  eyes  winked  quickly,  be- 
cause she  spoke  very  close  to  his  face.  She  disturbed 
him  much,  and  he  had  a  sense  of  the  efforts  he  was 
making  to  get  hold  of  her  meaning,  while  all  the  time 
he  could  not  help  telling  himself  that  all  this  was  of 
no  use. 

She  added  after  a  pause — "  There  has  been  a  time 
when  I  could  understand  him.  When  I  knew  what 
was  in  his  mind  better  than  he  knew  it  himself.  When 
I  felt  him.  When  I  held  him.  .  .  .  And  now  he  has 
escaped." 

"Escaped?    What?    Gone!"  shouted  Lingard. 

"Escaped  from  me,"  she  said;  "left  me  alone. 
Alone.     And  I  am  ever  near  him.     Yet  alone." 

Her  hands  slipped  slowly  off  Lingard's  shoulders 
and  her  arms  fell  by  her  side,  listless,  discouraged,  as 
if  to  her — to  her,  the  savage,  violent,  and  ignorant 
creature — had  been  revealed  clearly  in  that  moment 
the  tremendous  fact  of  our  isolation,  of  the  loneliness 
impenetrable  and  transparent,  elusive  and  everlasting; 
of  the  indestructible  loneliness  that  surrounds,  envel- 
opes, clothes  every  human  soul  from  the  cradle  to  the 
grave,  and,  perhaps,  beyond. 

"  Aye !  Very  well !  I  understand.  His  face  is 
turned  away  from  you,"  said  Lingard.  "  Now,  what 
do  you  want?  " 

"  I  want  ...  I  have  looked — for  help  .  .  .  every- 
where .  .  .  against  men.  .  .  .  All  men  ...  I  do  not 
know.  First  they  came,  the  invisible  whites,  and  dealt 
death  from  afar  .  .  .  then  he  came.  He  came  to  me 
who  was  alone  and  sad.  He  came;  angry  with  his 
brothers;  great  amongst  his  own  people;  angry  with 
those  I  have  not  seen:  with  the  people  where  men 


AN   OUTCAST   OF    THE    ISLANDS.  22$ 

have  no  mercy  and  women  have  no  shame.  He  was 
of  them,  and  great  amongst  them.    For  he  was  great?  " 

Lingard  shook  his  head  shghtly.  She  frowned  at 
him,  and  went  on  in  disordered  haste — 

"  Listen.  I  saw  him.  I  have  Hved  by  the  side  of 
brave  men  ...  of  chiefs.  When  he  came  I  was  the 
daughter  of  a  beggar — of  a  bhnd  man  without  strength 
and  hope.  He  spoke  to  me  as  if  I  had  been  brighter 
than  the  sunshine — more  dehghtful  than  the  cool  water 
of  the  brook  by  which  we  met — more  .  .  ." 

Her  anxious  eyes  saw  some  shade  of  expression 
pass  on  her  hstener's  face  that  made  her  hold  her 
breath  for  a  second,  and  then  explode  into  pained  fury 
so  violent  that  it  drove  Lingard  back  a  pace,  like  an 
unexpected  blast  of  wind.  He  lifted  both  his  hands, 
incongruously  paternal  in  his  venerable  aspect,  be- 
wildered and  soothing,  while  she  stretched  her  neck 
forward  and  shouted  at  him. 

"  I  tell  you  I  was  all  that  to  him.  I  know  it!  I 
saw  it!  .  .  .  There  are  times  when  even  you  white 
men  speak  the  truth.  I  saw  his  eyes.  I  felt  his  eyes, 
I  tell  you!  I  saw  him  tremble  when  I  came  near — 
when  I  spoke — when  I  touched  him.  Look  at  me! 
You  have  been  young.  Look  at  me.  Look,  Rajah 
Laut!" 

She  stared  at  Lingard  with  provoking  fixity,  then, 
turning  her  head  quickly,  she  sent  over  her  shoulder 
a  glance,  full  of  humble  fear,  at  the  house  that  stood 
high  behind  her  back — ^(iarkj_closed,  rickety,  and  silent 
on  its  crooked  posts. 

Lingard's  eyes  followed  her  look,  and  remained 
gazing  expectantly  at  the  house.  After  a  minute  or 
so  he  muttered,  glancing  at  her  suspiciously — 

"  If  he  has  not  heard  your  voice  now,  then  he  must 
be  far  away — or  dead." 

"  He  is  there,"  she  whispered,  a  little  calmed  but 
still  anxious — "  he  is  there.    For  three  days  he  waited. 


226  AN  OUTCAST  OF  THE   ISLANDS. 

Waited  for  you  night  and  day.  And  I  waited  with 
him.  I  waited,  watching  his  face,  his  eyes,  his  Hps; 
listening  to  his  words. — To  the  words  I  could  not 
understand. — To  the  words  he  spoke  in  daylight;  to 
the  words  he  spoke  at  night  in  his  short  sleep.  I  lis- 
tened. He  spoke  to  himself  walking  up  and  down  here 
— by  the  river;  by  the  bushes.  And  I  followed.  I 
wanted  to  know — and  I  could  not!  He  was  tormented 
by  things  that  made  him  speak  in  the  words  of  his 
own  people.  Speak  to  himself — not  to  me.  Not  to 
me!  What  was  he  saying?  What  was  he  going  to 
do?  Was  he  afraid  of  you? — Of  death?  What  was 
in  his  heart?  .  .  .  Fear?  ...  Or  anger?  .  .  .  What 
desire?  .  .  .  What  sadness?  He  spoke;  spoke;  many 
words.  All  the  time!  And  I  could  not  know!  I 
wanted  to  speak  to  him.  He  was  deaf  to  me.  I  fol- 
lowed him  everywhere,  watching  for  some  word  I 
could  understand;  but  his  mind  was  in  the  land  of  his 
people — away  from  me.  When  I  touched  him  he  was 
angry — so !  " 

She  imitated  the  movement  of  some  one  shaking 
off  roughly  an  importunate  hand,  and  looked  at  Lin- 
gard  with  tearful  and  unsteady  eyes. 

After  a  short  interval  of  laboured  panting,  as  if  she 
had  been  out  of  breath  with  running  or  fighting,  she 
looked  down  and  went  on — 

*'  Day  after  day,  night  after  night,  I  lived  watch- 
ing him — seeing  nothing.  And  my  heart  was  heavy — 
heavy  with  the  presence  of  death  that  dwelt  amongst 
us.  I  could  not  believe.  I  thought  he  was  afraid. 
Afraid  of  you!  Then  I,  myself,  knew  fear.  .  .  .  Tell 
me.  Rajah  Laut,  do  you  know  the  fear  without  voice 
— the  fear  of  silence — the  fear  that  comes  when  there 
is  no  one  near — when  there  is  no  battle,  no  cries,  no 
angry  faces  or  armed  hands  anywhere?  .  .  .  The  fear 
from  which  there  is  no  escape !  '*' 

She  paused,  fastened  her  eyes  again  on  puzzled- 


AN  OUTCAST   OF  THE  ISLANDS. 


227 


looking  Lingard,  and  hurried  on  in  a  tone  of  de- 
spair— 

"  And  I  knew  then  he  would  not  fight  you!  Be- 
fore— many  days  ago — I  went  away  twice  to  make  him 
obey  my  desire;  to  make  him  strike  at  his  own  people 
so  that  he  could  be  mine — mine!  O  calamity!  His 
Iiand  was  false  as  your  white  hearts.  It  struck  for- 
wards, pushed  by  my  desire — by  his  desire  of  me.  .  .  . 
It  struck  that  strong  hand,  and — O  shame! — it  killed 
nobody !  Its  fierce  and  lying  blow  woke  up  hate  with- 
out any  fear.  Round  me  all  was  lies.  His  strength 
was  a  lie.  My  own  people  lied  to  me — and  to  him. 
And  to  meet  you — you,  the  great! — he  had  no  one  but 
me?  But  me — with  my  rage,  my  pain,  my  weakness. 
Only  me!  And  to  me  he  would  not  even  speak.  The 
fool!" 

She  came  up  close  to  Lingard,  with  the  wild  and 
stealthy  aspect  of  a  lunatic  longing  to  whisper  out  an 
insane  secret — one  of  those  misshapen,  heart-rending, 
and  ludicrous  secrets;  one  of  those  thoughts  that,  like 
monsters — cruel,  fantastic,  and  mournful,  wander 
about  terrible  and  unceasing  in  the  night  of  madness. 
Lingard  looked  at  her,  astounded  but  unflinching. 
She  spoke  in  his  face,  very  low. 

"He  is  all!  Everything.  He  is  my  breath,  my 
light,  my  heart.  ...  Go  away.  .  .  .  Forget  him.  .  .  . 
He  has  no  courage  and  no  wisdom  any  more  .  .  .  and 
I  have  lost  my  power.  ...  Go  away  and  forget.  There 
are  other  enemies.  .  .  .  Leave  him  to  me.  He  had 
been  a  man  once.  .  .  .  You  are  too  great.  Nobody 
can  withstand  you.  ...  I  tried.  ...  I  know  now. 
...  I  cry  for  mercy.    Leave  him  to  me  and  go  away." 

The  fragments  of  her  supplicating  sentences  were 
as  if  tossed  on  the  crest  of  her  sobs ;  of  sobs  long,  roll- 
ing, and  deep  like  the  waves  of  the  open  sea  under 
the  tormenting  breath  of  strong  winds;  the  miser- 
able wreckage  of  her  passion,  her  thoughts,  her  d«a- 


>y 


228  AN   OUTCAST   OF   THE    ISLANDS. 

sires  rising  and  falling  and  beating,  black,  sinister  and 
torn  up,  in  the  white  foam  at  the  foot  of  hard  rocks 
that  belong  to  the  solid  and  motionless  earth.  Lin- 
gard,  standing  outwardly  impassible,  with  his  eyes 
fixed  on  the  house,  felt  the  recoil  of  all  the  fibres  of 
his  being  before  that  prayer;  experienced  that  feeling 
of  condemnation,  deep-seated,  persuasive,  and  master- 
ful; that  illogical  impulse  of  disapproval  which  is  half 
disgust,  half  vague  fear,  and  that  wakes  up  in  our 
hearts  in  the  presence  of  anything  new  or  unusual,  of 
anything  that  is  not  run  into  the  mould  of  our  own 
conscience;  the  accursed  feehng  made  up  of  disdain, 
of  anger,  and  of  the  sense  of  superior  virtue  that  leaves 
us  deaf,  blind,  contemptuous  and  stupid  before  any- 
thing which  is  not  like  ourselves. 

He  answered,  not  looking  at  her  at  first,  but  speak- 
ing towards  the  house  that  fascinated  him — 

*'  I  go  away!  He  wanted  me  to  come — he  himself 
did !  .  .  .  You  must  go  away.  You  do  not  know  what 
you  ask.  Look.  He  is  done.  Go  to  your  own  people. 
Leave  him.    He  is  .  .  ." 

He  paused,  looked  down  at  her  with  his  steady  red 
eyes;  hesitated,  as  if  seeking  an  adequate  expression; 
then  snapped  his  fingers,  and  said — 

"  Finish." 

She  stepped  back,  her  eyes  on  the  ground,  and 
pressed  her  temples  with  both  her  hands,  which  she 
raised  to  her  head  in  a  slow  and  ample  movement  full 
of  unconscious  tragedy.  The  tone  of  her  words  was 
gentle  and  vibrating,  like  a  loud  meditation.  She 
said — 

"Tell  the  brook  not  to  run  to  the  river;  tell  the 
river  not  to  run  to  the  sea.  Speak  loud.  Speak  an- 
grily. Maybe  thev  will  obey.  But  it  is  in  my  mind 
that  the  brook  will  not  care.  The  brook  that  springs 
out  of  the  hillside  and  runs  to  the  great  river.  He 
v^^ould  not  care  for  your  words:  he  that  cares  not  for 


AN   OUTCAST   OF   THE   ISLANDS.  229 

the  very  mountain  that  gave  him  Hfe;  he  that  tears 
the  earth  from  which  he  springs.  Tears  it,  eats  it, 
destroys  it — to  hurry  faster  to  the  river — to  the  river 
in  which  he  is  lost  for  ever  .  .  .  O  Rajah  Laut!  .  .  . 
I  do  not  care." 

She  drew  close  again  to  Lingard,  approaching 
slowly,  reluctantly,  as  if  pushed  by  an  invisible  hand, 
and  added  in  words  that  seemed  to  be  torn  out  of 
her — 

*'  I  cared  not  for  my  own  father.  For  him  that 
died.  I  would  have  rather  .  .  .  You  do  not  know 
what  I  have  done  .  .  .  I  .  .  ." 

''  You  shall  have  his  life,"  said  Lingard,  hastily. 

They  stood  together,  crossing  their  glances;  she 
suddenly  appeased,  and  Lingard  thoughtful  and  un- 
easy under  a  vague  sense  of  defeat.  And  yet  there 
was  no  defeat.  He  never  intended  to  kill  the  fellow 
— not  after  the  first  moment  of  anger,  a  long  time  ago. 
The  days  of  bitter  wonder  had  killed  anger;  had  left 
only  a  bitter  indignation  and  a  bitter  wish  for  com- 
plete justice.  He  felt  discontented  and  surprised.  Un- 
expectedly he  had  come  upon  a  human  being — a 
woman  at  that — who  had  made  him  disclose  his  will 
before  its  time.  This  was  a  matter  strictly  between 
Willems  and  himself.  He  had  an  unpleasant  notion 
of  having  been  cheated.  Never  before  in  all  his  life 
had  he  been  induced  to  let  a  mortal  creature  know  in 
advance  of  any  design  of  his.  When  the  thing  was 
done  tliey  would  see.  And  now  he  went  and  told 
her.  That  woman!  Why?  He  did  not  know.  He 
thought  he  must  be  getting  old — and  soft;  unaware 
that  some  va.eue  remnant  of  the  fisher-boy  lurking 
wnthin  him  had  suddenly  revolted,  had  been  honestly 
ready  to  imagine  the  worst  and  so  would  not  let  him 
hear  all  she  had  to  sav:  a  horrible  confession.  He 
heard  lik^an  indistinct  voice  speaking  between  him 
and  her;  k  voice  saying  that  if  she  had  committed 

/ .  ;  i 


iSO 


AN  OUTCAST  OF  THE  ISLANDS. 


some  horrible  crime  for  that  scoundrel,  and  the  scoun- 
drel let  her,  then  the  scoundrel  must  at  once  die — ■ 
which  would  be  less  than  justice.  But  had  she?  Oh! 
Nonsense.  What  was  she  going  to  tell  when  he  .  .  . 
She  must  be  told,  she  must  know  that  for  such  men 
as  Willems  there  was  no  favour  and  no  grace. 

"  Understand,"  he  said  slowly^  "  that  I  give  you-his 
life  not  in  mercy  but  in  punishment." 

SFe  started,  watched  every  word  on  his  lips,  and 
after  he  finished  speaking  she  remained  still  and  mute 
in  astonished  immobility.  Hk  single  big  drop  of  rain, 
a  drop  enormous,  pellucid  and  heavy — like  a  super- 
human tear  coming  straight  and  rapid  from  above, 
as  if  it  had  torn  its  way  through  the  sombre  sky — 
struck  loudly  the  dry  ground  between  them  in  a  starred 
splash.  She  wrung  her  hands  in  the  bewilderment 
of  the  new  and  incomprehensible  fear.  The  anguish 
of  her  whisper  was  more  piercing  than  the  shrillest 
cry.^ 

"What  punishment!  Will  you  take  him  away? 
Away  from  me?  Listen  to  what  I  have  done.  ...  It 
IS  I  who  .  .  ." 

"  Ah !  "  exclaimed  Lingard,  who  had  been  looking 
at  the  house. 

"  Don't  you  believe  her,  Captain  Lingard,"  shouted 
Willems  from  the  doorway,  where  he  appeared  with 
swollen  eyelids  and  bared  breast.  He  stood  for  a 
while,  his  hands  grasping  the  lintels  on  each  side  of 
the  door,  and  writhed  about,  glaring  wildly,  as  if  he 
had  been  crucified  there.  Then  he  made  a  sudden  rush 
head  foremost  down  the  plankway  that  responded  with 
hollow,  short  noises  to  every  footstep. 

She  heard  him.  A  sHght  thrill  passed  on  her  face 
and  the  words  that  were  on  her  lips  fell  back  unspoken 
into  her  benighted  heart;  fell  back  amongst  the  mud, 
the  stones — and  the  flowers,  that  are  at  the  bottom  of 
every  heart 


AN  OUTCAST  OF  THE  ISLANDS.  23 1 


IV. 

When  he  felt  the  solid  ground  of  the  courtyard 
under  his  feet,  Willenis  pulled  himself  up  in  his  head- 
long rush  and  moved  forward  with  a  moderate  gait. 
He  paced  stiffly,  looking  with  extreme  exactitude  at 
Lingard's  face;  looking  neither  to  the  right  nor  to 
the  left  but  at  the  face  only,  as  if  there  was  nothing  in 
the  world  but  those  features  familiar  and  dreaded; 
that  white-haired,  rough  and  severe  head  upon  which 
he  gazed  in  a  fixed  effort  of  his  eyes,  like  a  man  try- 
ing to  read  small  print  at  the  full  range  of  human 
vision.  As  soon  as  Willems'  feet  had  left  the  planks, 
the  silence  which  had  been  lifted  up  by  the  jerky  rattle 
of  his  footsteps  fell  down  again  upon  the  courtyard; 
the  silence  of  the  cloudy  sky  and  of  the  windless  air, 
the  sullen  silence  of  the  earth  oppressed  by  the  aspect 
of  coming  turmoil,  the  silence  of  the  world  collecting 
its  faculties  to  withstand  the  storm. 

Through  this  silence  Willems  pushed  his  way,  feel- 
ing its  resistance  at  every  step,  feeling  it  grow  heavy, 
thick,  troublesome  to  get  through — impenetrable  and 
solid  at  last  like  a  sheet  of  iron.  He  stopped  about 
six  feet  from  Lingard.  He  stopped  simply  because 
he  could  go  no  further.  He  had  started  from  the  door 
with  the  reckless  purpose  of  clapping  the  old  fellow 
on  the  shoulder.  He  had  no  idea  that  the  man  would 
turn  out  to  be  so  tall,  so  big  and  so  unapproachable. 
It  seemed  to  him  that  he  had  never,  never  in  his  life, 
seen  Lingard. 

He  tried  to  say — 

"  Do  not  believe  .  .  ." 

A  fit  of  coughing  checked  his  sentence  in  a  faint 
splutter;  a  fit  of  soft,  low  coughing  that  could  not  be 
kept  in  to  save  his  life  and  that  shook  him  from  head 
to  foot,  irresistible  and  gentle,  like  the  warning  of 


332 


AN   OUTCAST  OF  THE   ISLANDS. 


great  strength  to  extreme  weakness.  Directly  after- 
wards he  swallowed — as  it  were — a  couple  of  pebbles, 
throwing  his  chin  up  in  the  act;  and  Lingard,  who 
looked  at  him  narrowly,  saw  a  bone,  sharp  and  tri- 
angular like  the  head  of  a  snake,  dart  up  and  down 
twice  under  the  skin  of  his  throat.  Then  that,  too, 
did  not  move.     Nothing  moved. 

"  Well,"  said  Lingard,  and  with  that  word  he  came 
unexpectedly  to  the  end  of  his  speech.  His  hand  in 
his  pocket  closed  firmly  round  the  butt  of  his  revolver 
bulging  his  jacket  on  the  hip,  and  he  thought  how  soon 
and  how  quickly  he  could  terminate  his  quarrel  with 
that  man  who  had  been  so  anxious  to  deliver  himself 
into  his  hands — and  how  inadequate  would  be  that 
ending!  He  could  not  bear  the  idea  of  that  man 
escaping  from  him  by  going  out  of  life ;  escaping  from 
fear,  from  doubt,  from  remorse  into  the  peaceful  certi- 
tude of  death.  He  held  him  now.  And  he  was  not 
going  to  let  him  go — to  let  him  disappear  for  ever  in 
the  faint  blue  smoke  of  a  pistol  shot.  His  anger  grew 
within  him.  He  felt  a  touch  as  of  a  burning  hand  on 
his  heart.  Not  on  the  flesh  of  his  breast,  but  a  touch 
on  his  heart  itself,  on  the  palpitating  and  untiring 
particle  of  matter  that  responds  to  every  emotion  of 
the  soul;  that  leaps  with  joy,  with  terror,  or  with 
anger. 

He  drew  a  long  breath.  He  could  see  before  him 
the  bare  chest  of  the  man  expanding  and  collapsing 
under  the  wide-open  jacket.  He  glanced  aside,  and 
saw  the  bosom  of  the  woman  near  him  rise  and  fall 
in  quick  respirations  that  moved  slightly  up  and  down 
her  hand,  which  was  pressed  to  her  breast  with  all  the 
fingers  spread  out  and  a  little  curved,  as  if  grasping 
something  too  big  for  its  span.  They  stood  all  three 
under  the  low  sky,  inhaling  painfully  the  tepid,  misty 
and  perfidious  air;  the  air  poisonous  and  corrupted; 
the  breath  of  death  that  trailed  about  them  under  the 


AN   OUTCAST   OF   THE   ISLANDS. 


233 


heavy  clouds,  crept  towards  them  from  the  forests, 
from  the  marshes,  from  the  uncovered  mud-flats  of 
the  starved  river.  And  nearly  a  minute  passed.  One 
of  those  minutes  that  stand  out  forbidding  and  som- 
bre like  barren  islets  in  the  sea  of  time — ready  for 
harm,  useless  for  refuge.  One  of  those  minutes  when 
the  voice  is  silenced,  while  the  thoughts  flutter  in  the 
head,  like  captive  birds  inside  a  cage,  in  rushes  desper- 
ate, exhausting  and  vain. 

During  that  minute  of  silence  Lingard's  anger  kept 
rising,  immense  and  towering,  such  as  a  crested  wave 
running  over  the  troubled  shallows  of  the  sands.  Its 
roar  filled  his  ears;  a  roar  so  powerful  and  distract- 
ing that,  it  seemed  to  him,  his  head  must  burst  directly 
with  the  expanding  volume  of  that  sound.  He  looked 
at  that  man.  That  thing!  That  infamous  figure  up- 
right on  its  feet,  still,  rigid,  with  stony  eyes,  as  if  its 
rotten  soul  had  departed  that  moment  and  the  carcass 
hadn't  had  the  time  yet  to  topple  over.  For  the  frac- 
tion of  a  second  he  had  the  illusion  and  the  fear  of  the 
damned  scoundrel  having  died  there  before  the  en- 
raged glance  of  his  eyes.  Willems'  eyelids  fluttered, 
and  the  unconscious  and  passing  tremor  in  that  stiffly 
erect  body  exasperated  Lingard  like  a  fresh  outrage. 
The  fellow  dared  to  stir!  Dared  to  wink,  to  breathe, 
to  exist;  here,  right  before  his  eyes!  His  grip  on  the 
revolver  relaxed  gradually.  As  the  transport  of  his 
rage  increased,  so  also  his  contempt  for  the  instru- 
ments that  pierce  or  stab,  that  interpose  themselves 
between  the  hand  and  the  object  of  hate.  He  wanted 
another  kind  of  satisfaction.  Naked  hands,  by  heaven! 
No  firearms.  Hands  that  could  take  him  by  the  throat, 
beat  down  his  defence,  batter  his  face  into  shapeless 
flesh;  hands  that  could  feel  all  the  desperation  of  his 
resistance  and  overpower  it  in  the  violent  delight  of 
a  contact  lingering  and  furious,  intimate  and  brutal. 

He  let  go  the  revolver  altogether,  stood  hesitating^ 


J  j 


234  AN   OUTCAST   OF  THE   ISLANDS. 

then  throwing  his  hands  out,  strode  forward — and 
everything  passed  from  his  sight.  He  could  not  see 
the  man,  the  woman,  the  earth,  the  sky — saw  nothing, 
as  if  in  that  one  stride  he  had  left  the  visible  world 
behind  to  step  into  a  black  and  deserted  space.  He 
heard  screams  round  him  in  that  obscurity,  screams 
like  the  melancholy  and  pitiful  cries  of  sea-birds  that 
dwell  on  the  lonely  reefs  of  great  oceans.  Then  sud- 
denly a  face  appeared  within  a  few  inches  of  his  own. 
His  face.  He  felt  something  in  his  left  hand.  His 
throat  .  .  .  Ah!  the  thing  like  a  snake's  head  that 
darts  up  and  down  .  .  .  He  squeezed  hard.  He  w^as 
back  in  the  world.  He  could  see  the  quick  beating 
of  eyelids  over  a  pair  of  eyes  that  were  all  w^hites,  the 
grin  of  a  drawn-up  lip,  a  row  of  teeth  gleaming 
through  the  drooping  hair  of  a  moustache  .  .  .  Strong 
white  teeth.  Knock  them  down  his  lying  throat  .  .  . 
He  drew  back  his  right  hand,  the  fist  up  to  the  shoul- 
der, knuckles  out.  From  under  his  feet  rose  the 
screams  of  sea-birds.  Thousands  of  them.  Some- 
thing held  his  legs  .  .  .  What  the  devil  ...  He  de- 
livered his  blow  straight  from  the  shoulder,  felt  the  jar 
right  up  his  arm,  and  realised  suddenly  that  he  was 
striking  something  passive  and  unresisting.  His  heart 
sank  within  him  with  disappointment,  with  rage,  with 
mortification.  He  pushed  with  his  left  arm,  opening 
the  hand  with  haste,  as  if  he  had  just  perceived  that 
he  got  hold  by  accident  of  something  repulsive — and 
he  watched  with  stupefied  eyes  Willems  tottering 
backwards  in  groping  strides,  the  white  sleeve  of  his 
jacket  across  his  face.  He  watched  his  distance  from 
that  man  increase,  while  he  remained  motionless,  with- 
out being  able  to  account  to  himself  for  the  fact  that 
so  much  empty  space  had  come  in  between  them.  It 
should  have  been  the  other  way.  They  ought  to  have 
been  very  close,  and  .  .  .  Ah!  He  wouldn't  fight,  he 
wouldn't  resist,  he  wouldn't  defend  himself!     A  cur! 


AN  OUTCAST  OF  THE   ISLANDS.  235 

Evidently  a  cur!  ...  He  was  amazed  and  aggrieved 
— profoundly — bitterly — with  the  immense  and  blank 
desolation  of  a  small  child  robbed  of  a  toy.  He  shouted 
— unbelieving: 

''  Will  you  be  a  cheat  to  the  end?  " 

He  waited  for  some  answer.  He  waited  anxiously 
with  an  impatience  that  seemed  to  lift  him  off  his  feet. 
He  waited  like  one  that  sees  coming  out  of  the  future 
an  unheard-of  fortune  or  sudden  disaster.  He  waited 
for  some  word,  some  sign;  for  some  threatening  stir. 
Nothing!  Only  two  unwinking  eyes  glittered  in- 
tently at  him  above  the  white  sleeve.  He  saw  the 
raised  arm  detach  itself  from  the  face  and  sink  along 
the  body.  A  white-clad  arm,  with  a  big  stain  on  the 
white  sleeve.  A  red  stain.  There  was  a  cut  on  the 
cheek.  It  bled.  The  nose  bled  too.  The  blood  ran 
down,  made  one  moustache  look  like  a  dark  rag  stuck 
over  the  lip,  and  went  on  in  a  wet  streak  down  the 
clipped  beard  on  one  side  of  the  chin.  A  drop  of  blood 
hung  on  the  end  of  some  hairs  that  were  glued  to- 
gether; it  hung  for  a  while  and  took  a  leap  down  on 
the  ground.  Many  more  followed,  leaping  one  after 
another  in  close  file.  One  aHghted  on  the  breast  and 
glided  down  instantly  with  devious  vivacity,  like  a 
small  insect  running  away ;  it  left  a  narrow  dark  track 
on  the  white  skin.  He  looked  at  it,  looked  at  the  tiny 
and  active  drops,  looked  at  what  he  had  done,  with 
obscure  satisfaction,  with  anger,  with  regret.  This 
wasn't  much  like  an  act  of  justice.  He  had  a  desire 
to  go  up  nearer  to  the  man,  to  hear  him  speak,  to  hear 
him  say  something  atrocious  and  wicked  that  would 
justify  the  violence  of  the  blow.  He  made  an  attempt 
to  move,  and  became  aware  of  a  close  embrace  round 
both  his  legs,  just  above  the  ankles.  Instinctively,  he 
kicked  out  with  his  foot,  broke  through  the  close  bond 
and  felt  at  once  the  clasp  transferred  to  his  other  leg; 
the  clasp  warm,  desperate  and  soft,  of  human  arms. 
16 


236  AN   OUTCAST   OF   THE    ISLANDS. 

He  looked  down  bewildered.  He  saw  the  body  of  the 
woman  stretched  at  length,  flattened  on  the  ground 
like  a  dark-blue  rag.  She  trailed  face  downwards, 
clinging  to  his  leg  with  both  arms  in  a  tenacious  hug. 
He  saw  the  top  of  her  head,  the  long  black  hair  stream- 
ing over  his  foot,  all  over  the  beaten  earth,  around 
his  boot.  He  couldn't  see  his  foot  for  it.  He  heard 
the  short  and  repeated  moaning  of  her  breath.  He 
imagined  the  invisible  face  close  to  his  heel.  With  one 
kick  into  that  face  he  could  free  himself.  Hejiared-flot 
_stir,  and  shouted  down — 

"  Let  go!    Let  go!    Let  go!  " 

The  only  result  of  his  shouting  was  a  tightening 
of  the  pressure  of  her  arms.  With  a  tremendous  effort 
he  tried  to  bring  his  right  foot  up  to  his  left,  and  suc- 
ceeded partly.  He  heard  distinctly  the  rub  of  her  body 
on  the  ground  as  he  jerked  her  along.  He  tried  to 
disengage  himself  by  drawing  up  his  foot.  He 
stamped.     He  heard  a  voice  saying  sharply — 

"Steady,  Captain  Lingard,  steady!" 

His  eyes  flew  back  to  Willems  at  the  sound  of  that 
voice,  and,  in  the  quick  awakening  of  sleeping  memo- 
ries, Lingard  stood  suddenly  still,  appeased  by  the 
clear  ring  of  familiar  words.  Appeased  as  in  days 
of  old,  when  they  were  trading  together,  when  Wil- 
lems was  his  trusted  and  helpful  companion  in  out- 
of-the-way  and  dangerous  places;  when  that  fellow, 
who  could  keep  his  temper  so  much  better  than  he 
could  himself,  had  spared  him  many  a  difflculty,  had 
s^ved  him  from  many  an  act  of  hasty  violence  by  the 
timely  and  good-humoured  warning,  whispered  or 
shouted,  "  Steady,  Captain  Lingard,  steady."  A  smart 
fellow.  He  had  brought  him  up.  The  smartest  fellow 
in  the  islands.  If  he  had  only  stayed  with  him,  then 
all  this  .  .  .  He  called  out  to  Willems — 

"  Tell  her  to  let  me  go  or  .  .  ." 

He  heard  Willems  shouting  something,  waited  for 


AN  OUTCAST   OF  THE   ISLANDS. 


237 


awhile,  then  glanced  vaguely  down  and  saw  the  woman 
still  stretched  out  perfectly  mute  and  unstirring,  with 
her  head  at  his  feet.  He  felt  a  nervous  impatience 
that,  somehow,  resembled  fear. 

*•  Tell  her  to  let  go,  to  go  away,  Willems,  I  tell  you. 
Fve  had  enough  of  this,"  he  cried. 

"  All  right.  Captain  Lingard,"  answered  the  calm 
voice  of  Willems,  "  she  has  let  go.  Take  your  foot 
ofif  her  hair;  she  can't  get  up." 

Lingard  leaped  aside,  clean  away,  and  spun  round 
quickly.  He  saw  her  sit  up  and  cover  her  face  with 
both  hands,  then  he  turned  slowly  on  his  heel  and 
looked  at  the  man.  Willems  held  himself  very 
straight,  but  was  unsteady  on  his  feet,  and  moved 
about  nearly  on  the  same  spot,  like  a  tipsy  man  at- 
tempting to  preserve  his  balance.  After  gazing  at 
him  for  a  while,  Lingard  called,  rancorous  and  irri- 
table— 

**  W^hat  have  you  got  to  say  for  yourself?  " 

Willems  began  to  walk  towards  him.  He  walked 
slowly,  reeling  a  little  before  he  took  each  step,  and 
Lingard  saw  him  put  his  hand  to  his  face,  then  look 
at  it  holding  it  up  to  his  eyes,  as  if  he  had  there,  con- 
cealed in  the  hollow  of  the  palm,  some  small  object 
which  he  wanted  to  examine  secretly.  Suddenly  he 
drew  it,  with  a  brusque  movement,  down  the  front  of 
his  jacket  and  left  a  long  smudge. 

"  That's  a  fine  thing  to  do,"  said  Willems. 

He  stood  in  front  of  Lingard,  one  of  his  eyes  sunk 
deep  in  the  increasing  swelling  of  his  cheek,  still  re- 
peating mechanically  the  movement  of  feeling  his 
damaged  face;  and  every  time  he  did  this  he  pressed 
the  palm  to  some  clean  spot  on  his  jacket,  covering 
the  white  cotton  with  bloody  imprints  as  of  some  de- 
formed and  monstrous  hand.  Lingard  said  nothing, 
looking  on.  At  last  Willems  left  off  staunching  the 
blood  and  stood,  his  arms  hanging  by  his  side,  with 


238 


AN  OUTCAST  OF  THE   ISLANDS. 


his  face  stiff  and  distorted  under  the  patches  of  co- 
agulated blood;  and  he  seemed  as  though  he  had  been 
set  up  there  for  a  warning:  an  incomprehensible 
figure  marked  all  over  with  some  awful  and  symbolic 
signs  of  deadly  import.  Speaking  with  difficulty,  he 
repeated  in  a  reproachful  tone — 

"  That  was  a  fine  thing  to  do." 

''  After  all,"  answered  Lingard,  bitterly,  "  I  had 
too  good  an  opinion  of  you." 

"  And  I  of  you.  Don't  you  see  that  I  could  have 
had  that  fool  over  there  killed  and  the  whole  thing 
burnt  to  the  ground,  swept  off  the  face  of  the  earth. 
You  wouldn't  have  found  as  much  as  a  heap  of  ashes 
had  I  liked.  I  could  have  done  all  that.  And  I 
wouldn't." 

"  You — could — not.  You  dared  not.  You  scoun- 
drel! "  cried  Lingard. 

"What's  the  use  of  calling  me  names?" 

"  True,"  retorted  Lingard — "  there's  no  name  bad 
enough  for  you." 

There  was  a  short  interval  of  silence.  At  the  sound 
of  their  rapidly  exchanged  words,  Aissa  had  got  up 
from  the  ground  where  she  had  been  sitting,  in  a  sor- 
rowful and  dejected  pose,  and  approached  the  two 
men.  She  stood  on  one  side  and  looked  on  eagerly. 
Her  eyes  would  watch  on  the  moving  lips  the  quiver 
of  last  words,  then  would  leap  in  a  flash  to  the  other 
face,  forestalling  the  first  tremor  of  the  lips  that  were 
going  to  speak.  She  looked  on  helpless,  bewildered, 
in  a  desperate  effort  of  her  brain,  with  the  quick  and 
distracted  eyes  of  a  person  trying  for  her  life  to  pene- 
trate the  meaning  of  sentences  uttered  in  a  foreign 
tongue:  the  meaning  portentous  and  fateful  that  lurks 
in  the  sounds  of  mysterious  words ;  in  the  sounds  sur- 
prising, unknown  and  strange. 

Willems  let  the  last  speech  of  Lingard  pass  by; 
seemed  by  a  slight  movement  of  his  hand  to  help  it 


AN  OUTCAST  OF  THE  ISLANDS.  239 

on  its  way  to  join  the  other  shadows  of  the  past.    Then 
he  said — 

"  You  have  struck  me ;  you  have  insulted  me  .  .  ." 

**  Insulted  you!"  interrupted  Lingard,  passionate- 
ly.    "  Who— what  can  insult  you  .  .  .  you  .  .  ." 

He  choked,  advanced  a  step. 

"  Steady!  steady!  "  said  Willems,  calmly.  "  I  tell 
you  I  sha'n't  fight.  Is  it  clear  enough  to  you  that  I 
sha'n't  ?    I— shall— not— lift— a— finger." 

As  he  spoke,  slowly  punctuating  each  word  with  a 
slight  jerk  of  his  head,  he  stared  at  Lingard,  his  right 
eye  open  and  big,  the  left  small  and  nearly  closed  by 
the  swelHng  of  one  half  of  his  face,  that  appeared  all 
drawn  out  on  one  side  Hke  faces  seen  in  a  concave 
glass.  And  they  stood  exactly  opposite  each  other: 
one  tall,  sHght  and  disfigured;  the  other  tall,  heavy 
and  severe. 

Willems  went  on — 

"  If  I  had  wanted  to  hurt  you — if  I  had  wanted  to 
destroy  you,  it  was  easy.  I  stood  in  the  doorway  long 
enough  to  pull  a  trigger — and  you  know  I  shoot 
straight." 

"  You  would  have  missed,"  said  Lingard,  with  as- 
surance. *'  There  is,  under  heaven,  such  a  thing  as 
justice." 

The  sound  of  that  word  on  his  own  lips  made  him 
pause,  confused,  like  an  unexpected  and  unanswerable 
rebuke.  The  anger  of  his  outraged  pride,  the  anger 
of  his  outraged  heart,  had  gone  out  in  the  blow;  and 
there  remained  nothing  but  the  sense  of  some  immense 
infamy — of  something  vague,  disgusting  and  terrible, 
which  seemed  to  surround  him  on  all  sides,  hover 
about  him  with  shadowy  and  stealthy  movements,  like 
a  band  of  assassins  in  the  darkness  of  vast  and  unsafe 
places.  Was  there,  under  heaven,  such  a  thing  as 
justice?  He  looked  at  the  man  before  him  with  such 
an  intensity  of  prolonged  glance  that  he  seemed  to  see 


240  AN  OUTCAST   OF  THE   ISLANDS. 

right  through  him,  that  at  last  he  saw  but  a  floating 
and  unsteady  mist  in  human  shape.  Would  it  blow 
away  before  the  first  breath  of  the  breeze  and  leave 
nothing  behind?  Nothing  to  lay  hold  of?  No  mo- 
tive, no  reason,  no  cause,  nothing  to  justify  to  his 
simple  heart  the  strange  workings  of  Providence  that 
allowed  such  a  thing  to  live,  to  He,  to  do  harm;  that 
gave  it  eyes  to  search  out,  hps  to  deceive,  a  brain  to 
plan  infamous  treacheries.  To  plan  them,  to  execute 
them — and  to  go  on  breathing,  moving,  confronting 
men,  speaking  to  them — impudent  and  safe.  He,  him- 
self, felt  an  intolerable  shame  when  looking  at  that 
creature  before  him.  He  felt  somehow  the  weight  of 
his  responsibility  for  its  continued  existence;  and  he 
was  so  appalled  by  the  thought  that  had  the  world 
that  moment  come  to  an  end,  had  it  crumbled  to  pieces, 
dissolved,  drifted  away  in  fragments  from  under  his 
feet,  he  would  not  have  felt  the  slightest  surprise. 

The  sound  of  Willems'  voice  made  him  start  vio- 
lently.   Willems  was  saying — 

"  I  have  always  led  a  virtuous  life ;  you  know  I 
have.  You  always  praised  me  for  my  steadiness;  you 
know  you  have.  You  know  also  I  never  stole — if 
that's  what  you're  thinking  of.  I  borrowed.  You 
know  how  much  I  repaid.  It  was  an  error  of  judg- 
ment. But  then  consider  my  position  there.  I  had 
been  a  little  unlucky  in  my  private  affairs,  and  had 
debts.  Could  I  let  myself  go  under  before  the  eyes 
of  all  those  men  who  envied  me?  But  that's  all  over. 
It  was  an  error  of  judgment.  I've  paid  for  it.  An 
error  of  judo^ment." 

Lin.o-ard,  astounded  into  perfect  stillness,  looked 
down.  He  looked  down  at  Willems'  bare  feet.  Then, 
as  the  other  had  paused,  he  repeated  in  a  blank  tone — > 

"  An  error  of  iud|n;-ment  .  .  ." 

"  Yes,"  drawled  out  Willems,  thoughtfullv,  and 
went  on  with  increasing  animation :  "  As  I  said,  I  have 


an  outcast  of  the  islands.  241 

always  led  a  virtuous  life.  More  so  than  Hudig — than 
you.  Yes,  than  you.  i  drank  a,  little,  1  played  cards 
a  little.  Who  doesn't?  But  I  had  principles  from  a 
boy.  Yes,  principles.  Business  is  business,  and  I 
never  was  an  ass.  I  never  respected  fools.  They  had 
to  suffer  for  their  folly  when  they  dealt  with  me.  The 
evil  was  in  them,  not  in  me.  But  as  to  principles,  it's 
another  matter.  I  kept  clear  of  women.  It's  forbidden 
— I  had  no  time — and  I  despised  them.  Now  I  hate 
them!" 

He  put  his  tongue  out  a  Httle;  a  tongue  whose 
pink  and  moist  end  ran  here  and  there,  like  some- 
thing independently  alive,  under  his  swollen  and  black- 
ened lip;  he  touched  with  the  tips  of  his  fingers  the  cut 
on  his  cheek,  felt  all  round  it  with  precaution:  and 
the  unharmed  side  of  his  face  appeared  for  a  moment 
to  be  preoccupied  and  uneasy  about  the  state  of  that 
other  side  which  was  so  very  sore  and  stiff. 

He  recommenced  speaking,  and  his  voice  vibrated 
as  though  with  repressed  emotion  of  some  kind. 

"  You  ask  my  wife,  when  you  see  her  in  Macassar, 
whether  I  have  no  reason  to  hate  her.  She  was  no- 
body, and  I  made  her  Mrs.  Willems.  A  half-caste 
girl!  You  ask  her  how  she  showed  her  gratitude  to 
me.  You  ask  .  .  .  Never  mind  that.  Well,  you  came 
and  dumped  me  here  like  a  load  of  rubbish;  dumped 
me  here  and  left  me  with  nothing  to  do — nothing  good 
to  remember — and  damn  little  to  hope  for.  You  left 
me  here  at  the  mercy  of  that  fool,  Almayer,  who  sus- 
pected me  of  something.  Of  what?  Devil  only  knows. 
But  he  suspected  and  hated  me  from  the  first;  I  sup- 
pose because  you  befriended  me.  Oh!  I  could  read 
him  like  a  book.  He  isn't  very  deep,  your  Sambir 
partner,  Captain  Lingard,  but  he  knows  how  to  be 
disagreeable.  Months  passed.  I  thought  I  would  die 
of  sheer  weariness,  of  my  thoughts,  of  my  regrets. 
And  then  .  .  ." 


242  AN  OUTCAST  OF  THE  ISLANDS. 

He  made  a  quick  step  nearer  to  Lingard,  and  as  ii 
moved  by  the  same  thought,  by  the  same  instinct,  by 
the  impulse  of  his  will,  Aissa  also  stepped  nearer  to 
them.  They  stood  in  a  close  group,  and  the  two  men 
could  feel  the  calm  air  between  their  faces  stirred  by 
the  light  breath  of  the  anxious  woman  who  enveloped 
them  both  in  the  uncomprehending,  in  the  despair- 
ing and  wondering  glances  of  her  wild  and  mournful 
eyes. 


Willems  turned  a  little  from  her  and  spoke  lower. 

''  Look  at  that,"  he  said,  with  an  almost  imper- 
ceptible movement  of  his  head  towards  the  woman  to 
whom  he  was  presenting  his  shoulder.  "  Look  at 
that!  Don't  believe  her!  What  has  she  been  saying 
to  you?  What?  I  have  been  asleep.  Had  to  sleep 
at  last.  I've  been  waiting  for  you  three  days  and 
nights.  I  had  to  sleep  some  time.  Hadn't  I?  I  told 
her  to  remain  awake  and  watch  for  you,  and  call  me 
at  once.  She  did  watch.  You  can't  believe  her.  You 
can't  believe  any  woman.  Who  can  tell  what's  inside 
their  heads?  No  one.  You  can  know  nothing.  The 
only  thing  you  can  know  is  that  it  isn't  anything  like 
what  comes  through  their  lips.  They  live  by  the  side 
of  you.  They  seem  to  hate  you,  or  they  seem  to  love 
you;  they  caress  or  torment  you;  they  throw  you  over 
or  stick  to  you  closer  than  your  skin  for  some  inscruta- 
ble and  awful  reason  of  their  own — which  you  can 
never  know!  Look  at  her — and  look  at  me.  At  me! 
— her  infernal  work.     What  has  she  been  saying?  " 

His  voice  had  sunk  to  a  whisper.  Lingard  listened 
with  great  attention,  holding  his  chin  in  his  hand, 
which  grasped  a  great  handful  of  his  white  beard. 


AN  OUTCAST  OF   THE   ISLANDS.  243 

His  elbow  was  in  the  palm  of  his  other  hand,  and 
his  eyes  were  still  fixed  on  the  ground.  He  murmured, 
without  looking  up — 

"  She  begged  me  for  your  life — if  you  want  to  know 
— as  if  the  thing  was  worth  giving  or  taking !  " 

"  And  for  three  days  she  begged  me  to  take  yours," 
said  Willems  quickly.  '*  For  three  days  she  wouldn't 
give  me  any  peace.  She  was  never  still.  She  planned 
ambushes.  She  has  been  looking  for  places  all  over 
here  where  I  could  hide  and  drop  you  with  a  safe  shot 
as  you  walked  up.    It's  true.    I  give  you  my  word." 

"  Your  word,"  muttered  Lingard,  contemptuously. 

Willems  took  no  notice. 

"Ah!  She  is  a  ferocious  creature,"  he  went  on. 
"  You  don't  know  ...  I  wanted  to  pass  the  time — 
to  do  something — to  have  something  to  think  about — 
to  forget  my  troubles  till  you  came  back.  And  .  .  . 
look  at  her  .  .  .  she  took  me  as  if  I  did  not  belong  to 
myself.  She  did.  I  did  not  know  there  was  some- 
thing in  me  she  could  get  hold  of.  She,  a  savage. 
I,  a  civilised  European,  and  clever!  She  that  knew 
no  more  than  a  wild  animal!  Well,  she  found  out 
something  in  me.  She  found  it  out,  and  I  was  lost. 
I  knew  it.  She  tormented  me.  I  was  ready  to  do 
anything.  I  resisted — but  I  was  ready.  I  knew  that 
too.  That  frightened  me  more  than  anything;  more 
than  my  own  sufferings;  and  that  was  frightful 
enough,  I  assure  you." 

Lingard  listened,  fascinated  and  amazed  like  a  child 
listening  to  a  fairy  tale,  and,  when  Willems  stopped  for 
breath,  he  shuffled  his  feet  a  little. 

''What  does  he  say?"  cried  out  Aissa,  suddenly. 

The  two  men  looked  at  her  quickly,  and  then 
looked  at  one  another. 

Willems  began  again,  speaking  hurriedly — 

"  I  tried  to  do  something.  Take  her  away  from 
those  people.    I  went  to  Almayer;  the  biggest  blind 


244  ^^   OUTCAST  OF   TKE   ISLANDS. 

fool  that  you  ever  .  .  .  Then  Abdulla  came — and  she 
went  away.  She  took  away  with  her  something  of 
me  which  I  had  to  get  back.  I  had  to  do  it.  As  far 
as  you  are  concerned,  the  change  here  had  to  happen 
sooner  or  later;  you  couldn't  be  master  here  for  ever. 
It  isn't  what  I  have  done  that  torments  me.  It  is  the 
why.  It's  the  madness  that  drove  me  to  it.  It's  that 
thing  that  came  over  me.  That  may  come  again  some 
day." 

"  It  will  do  no  harm  to  anybody  then,  I  promise 
you,"  said  Lingard,  significantly. 

Willems  looked  at  him  for  a  second  with  a  blank 
stare,  then  went  on — 

"  I  fought  against  her.  She  goaded  me  to  violence 
and  to  murder.  Nobody  knows  why.  She  pushed 
me  to  it  persistently,  desperately,  all  the  time.  For- 
tunately Abdulla  had  sense.  I  don't  know  what  I 
wouldn't  have  done.  She  held  me  then.  Held  me 
like  a  nightmare  tiiat  is  terrible  and  sweet.  By  and 
by  it  was  another  life.  I  woke  up.  I  found  myself 
beside  an  animal  as  full  of  harm  as  a  wild  cat.  You 
don't  know  through  what  I  have  passed.  Her  father 
tried  to  kill  me — and  she  very  nearly  killed  him.  I 
believe  she  would  have  stuck  at  nothing.  I  don't 
know  which  was  more  terrible!  She  would  have  stuck 
at  nothing  to  defend  her  own.  And  when  I  think  that 
it  was  me — me — Willems  ...  I  hate  her.  To-mor- 
row she  may  want  my  life.  How  can  I  know  what's 
in  her?    She  may  want  to  kill  me  next!  " 

He  paused  in  great  trepidation,  then  added  in  a 
scared  tone — 

"  I  don't  want  to  die  here." 

"  Don't  you?  "  said  Lingard,  thoughtfully. 

Willems  turned  towards  Aissa  and  pointed  at  her 
with  a  bony  forefinger. 

"Look  at  her!  Always  there.  Always  near.  Al- 
ways watching,  watching  ...  for  something.     Look 


AN  OUTCAST   OF   THE  ISLANDS.  245 

at  her  eyes.  Ain't  they  big?  Don't  they  stare?  You 
wouldn't  think  she  can  shut  them  Hke  human  beings 
do.  I  don't  beheve  she  ever  does.  I  go  to  sleep,  if  I 
can,  under  their  stare,  and  when  I  wake  up  I  see  them 
fixed  on  me  and  moving  no  more  than  the  eyes  of  a 
corpse.  While  I  am  still  they  are  still.  By  God!  she 
can't  move  them  till  I  stir,  and  then  they  follow  me 
like  a  pair  of  jailers.  They  watch  me;  when  I  stop 
they  seem  to  wait  patient  and  glistening  till  I  am  off 
my  guard — for  to  do  something.  To  do  something 
horrible.  Look  at  them!  You  can  see  nothing  in 
them.  They  are  big,  menacing — and  empty.  The 
eyes  of  a  savage;  of  a  damned  mongrel,  half- Arab, 
half-Malay.  They  hurt  me!  I  am  white!  I  swear  to 
you  I  can't  stand  this!  Take  me  away.  I  am  white! 
All  white!" 

He  shouted  towards  the  sombre  heaven,  proclaim- 
ing desperately  under  the  frown  of  thickening  clouds 
the  fact  of  his  pure  and  superior  descent.  He  shouted, 
his  head  thrown  up,  his  arms  swinging  about  wildly; 
lean,  ragged,  disfigured;  a  ^1  jnadman  making  a 
great  disturbance  about  something  invisible;  a  being 
'aBsurH^TepuTsTveT^atHetic,  and  droll.  Lingard,  who 
was  looking  down  as  if  absorbed  in  deep  thought, 
gave  him  a  quick  glance  from  under  his  eyebrows: 
A'issa  stood  with  clasped  hands.  At  the  other  end  of 
the  courtyard  the  old  woman,  like  a  vague  and  de- 
crepit apparition,  r^s^^lioTselessly  to  look,  then  sank 
down  again  with  a  stealthy  movement  and  crouched 
low  over  the  small  glow  of  the  fire.  Willems'  voice 
filled  the  enclosure,  rising  louder  with  every  word, 
and  then,  suddenly,  at  its  very  loudest,  stopped  short 
— like  water  stops  running  from  an  overturned  vessel. 
As  soon  as  it  had  ceased  the  thunder  seemed  to  take 
up  the  burden  in  a  low  growl  coming  from  the  inland 
hills.  The  noise  approached  in  confused  mutterings 
which  kept  on  increasing,  swelling  into  a  roar  that 


246  AN  OUTCAST  OF  THE   ISLANDS. 

came  nearer,  rushed  down  the  river,  passed  close  in  a 
tearing  crash — and  instantly  sounded  faint,  dying 
away  in  monotonous  and  dull  repetitions  amongst  the 
endless  sinuosities  of  the  lower  reaches.  Over  the 
great  forests,  over  all  the  innumerable  people  of  un- 
stirring  trees — over  all  that  living  people  immense, 
motionless,  and  mute — the  silence,  that  had  rushed  in 
on  the  track  of  the  passing  tumult,  remained  sus- 
pended as  deep  and  complete  as  if  it  had  never  been 
disturbed  from  the  beginning  of  remote  ages.  Then, 
through  it,  after  a  time,  came  to  Lingard's  ears  the 
voice  of  the  running  river;  a  voice  low,  discreet,  and 
sad,  Hke  the  persistent  and  gentle  voices  that  speak  of 
the  past  in  the  silence  of  dreams. 

He  felt  a  great  emptiness  in  his  heart.  It  seemed 
to  him  that  there  was  within  his  breast  a  great  space 
without  any  light,  where  his  thoughts  wandered  for- 
lornly, unable  to  escape,  unable  to  rest,  unable  to  die, 
to  vanish — and  to  relieve  him  from  the  fearful  oppres- 
sion of  their  existence.  Speech,  action,  anger,  forgive- 
ness, all  appeared  to  him  alike  useless  and  vain,  ap- 
peared to  him  unsatisfactory,  not  worth  the  effort  of 
hand  or  brain  that  was  needed  to  give  them  effect. 
He  could  not  see  why  he  should  not  remain  standing 
there,  without  ever  doing  anything,  to  the  end  of  time. 
He  felt  something,  something  like  a  heavy  chain,  that 
held  him  there.  This  wouldn't  do.  He  backed  away 
a  little  from  Willems  and  Ai'ssa,  leaving  them  close 
together,  then  stopped  and  looked  at  both.  The  man 
and  the  woman  appeared  to  him  much  further  than 
they  really  were.  He  had  made  only  about  three  steps 
backward,  but  he  believed  for  a  moment  that  another 
step  would  take  him  out  of  earshot  for  ever.  They 
appeared  to  him  slightly  under  life  size,  and  with  a 
great  cleanness  of  outlines,  like  figures  carved  with 
great  precision  of  detail  and  highly  finished  by  a  skilful 
hand.    He  pulled  himself  together.    The  strong  con- 


AN  OUTCAST  OF   THE   ISLANDS. 


247 


sciousness  of  his  own  personality  came  back  to  him. 
He  had  a  notion  of  surveying  them  from  a  great  and 
inaccessible  height. 

He  said  slowly:  "You  have  been  possessed  of  a 
devil." 

"  Yes,"  answered  Willems  gloomily,  and  looking  at 
Aissa.     "  Isn't  it  pretty?" 

"  I've  heard  this  kind  of  talk  before,"  said  Lingard, 
in  a  scornful  tone;  then  paused,  and  went  on  steadily 
after  a  while :  "  I  regret  nothing.  I  picked  you  up 
by  the  waterside,  like  a  starving  cat — by  God.  I  re- 
gret nothing;  nothing  that  I  have  done.  Abdulla — 
twenty  others — no  doubt  Hudig  himself,  were  after 
me.  That's  business — for  them.  But  that  you  should 
.  .  .  Money  belongs  to  him  who  picks  it  up  and  is 
strong  enough  to  keep  it — but  this  thing  was  different. 
It  was  part  of  my  life.  ...  I  am  an  old  fool." 

He  was.  The  breath  of  his  words,  of  the  very 
words  he  spoke,  fanned  the  spark  of  divine  folly  in  his 
breast,  the  spark  that  made  him — the  hard-headed, 
heavy-handed  adventurer — stand  out  from  the  crowd, 
from  the  sordid,  from  the  joyous,  unscrupulous,  and 
noisy  crowd  of  men  that  were  so  much  like  himself. 

Willems  said  hurriedly :  "  It  wasn't  me.  The  evil 
was  not  in  me.  Captain  Lingard." 

"  And  where^else— confound  you!  Where  else?" 
interrupted  Lingard,  raising  his  voice.  "  Did  you  ever 
see  me  cheat  and  lie  and  steal?  Tell  me  that.  Did 
you?  Hey?  I  wonder  where  in  perdition  you  came 
from  when  I  found  you  under  my  feet.  .  .  .  No  mat- 
ter.   You  will  do  no  more  harm." 

Willems  moved  nearer,  gazing  upon  him  anxiously. 
Lingard  went  on  with  distinct  deliberation — 

"  What  did  you  expect  when  you  asked  me  to  see 
you?  What?  You  know  me.  I  am  Lingard.  You 
lived  with  me.  You've  heard  men  speak.  You  knew 
what  you  had  done.    Well!    What  did  you  expect?" 


248  AN  OUTCAST  OF   THE   ISLANDS. 

"  How  can  I  know?  "  groaned  Willems,  wringing 
his  hands;  *'  I  was  alone  in  that  infernal  savage  crowd. 
I  was  delivered  into  their  hands.  After  the  thing  was 
done,  I  felt  so  lost  and  weak  that  I  would  have  called 
the  devil  himself  to  my  aid  if  it  had  been  any  good — 
if  he  hadn't  put  in  all  his  work  already.  In  the  whole 
world  there  was  only  one  man  that  had  ever  cared  for 
me.  Only  one  white  man.  You!  Hate  is  better  than 
being  alone!  Death  is  better!  I  expected  .  .  .  any- 
thing. Something  to  expect.  Something  to  take  me 
out  of  this.     Out  of  her  sight!  " 

He  laughed.  His  laugh  seemed  to  be  torn  out  from 
him  against  his  will,  seemed  to  be  brought  violently 
on  the  surface  from  under  his  bitterness,  his  self-con- 
tempt, from  under  his  despairing  wonder  at  his  own 
nature. 

"  When  I  think  that  when  I  first  knew  her  it 
seemed  to  me  that  my  whole  life  wouldn't  be  enough 
to  .  .  .  And  now  when  I  look  at  her!  She  did  it  all. 
I  must  have  been  mad.  I  was  mad.  Every  time  I 
look  at  her  I  remember  my  madness.  It  frightens 
me.  .  .  .  And  when  I  think  that  of  all  my  life,  of  all 
my  past,  of  all  my  future,  of  my  intelligence,  of  my 
work,  there  is  nothing  left  but  she,  the  cause  of  my 
ruin,  and  you  whom  I  have  mortally  offended  .  .  ." 

He  hid  his  face  for  a  moment  in  his  hands,  and 
when  he  took  them  away  he  had  lost  the  appearance 
of  comparative  calm  and  gave  way  to  a  wild  distress. 

"  Captain  Lingard  .  .  .  anything  ...  a  deserted 
island  .  .  .  anywhere  ...  I  promise  .  .  ." 

"Shut  up!"  shouted  Lingard,  roughly. 

He  became  dumb,  suddenly,  completely. 

The  wan  light  of  the  clouded  morning  retired  slow- 
ly from  the  courtyard,  from  the  clearings,  from  the 
river,  as  if  it  had  gone  unwillingly  to  hide  in  the  enig- 
matical solitudes  of  the  gloomy  and  silent  forests.  The 
clouds  over  their  heads  thickened  into  a  low  vault 


I 

AN   OUTCAST   OF   THE   ISLANDS.  249 

of  uniform  blackness.  The  air  was  still  and  inexpres- 
sibly oppressive.  Lingard  unbuttoned  his  jacket,  flung 
it  wide  open,  and,  inclining  his  body  sideways  a  little, 
wiped  his  forehead  with  his  hand,  which  he  jerked 
sharply  afterwards.  Then  he  looked  at  Willems  and 
said — 

'*  No  promise  of  yours  is  any  good  to  me.  I  am 
going  to  take  your  conduct  into  my  own  hands.  Pay 
attention  to  what  I  am  going  to  say.  You  are  my 
prisoner." 

Willems'  head  moved  imperceptibly;  then  he  be- 
came rigid  and  still.    He  seemed  not  to  breathe. 

"  You  shall  stay  here,"  continued  Lingard,  with 
sombre  deliberation.  ''  You  are  not  fit  to  go  amongst 
people.  Who  could  suspect,  who  could  guess,  who 
could  imagine  what's  in  you?  I  couldn't!  You  are 
my  mistake.  I  shall  hide  you  here.  If  I  let  you  out 
you  would  go  amongst  unsuspecting  men,  and  lie, 
and  steal,  and  cheat  for  a  little  money  or  for  some 
woman.  I  don't  care  about  shooting  you.  It  would 
be  the  safest  way  though.  But  I  won't.  Do  not  ex- 
pect me  to  forgive  you.  To  forgive  one  must  have 
been  angry  and  become  contemptuous,  and  there  is 
nothing  in  me  now — no  anger,  no  contempt,  no  dis- 
appointment. To  me  you  are  not  Willems,  the  man 
I  befriended  and  helped  through  thick  and  thin,  and 
thought  much  of  .  .  .  You  are  not  a  human  being 
that  may  be  destroyed  or  forgiven.  You  are  a  bitter 
thought,  a  something  without  a  body  and  that  must  be 
hidden  .  .  .  You  are  my  shame." 

He  ceased  and  looked  slowly  round.  How  dark  it 
was!  It  seemed  to  him  that  the  Hght  was  dying  pre- 
maturely out  of  the  world  and  that  the  air  was  already 
dead.  Again  his  big,  hairy  hand  swept  the  perspira- 
tion from  his  forehead,  and  he  shook  the  moisture 
ofif  the  fingers,  projecting  his  arm  clear  away  from 
his  body. 


250 


AN   OUTCAST   OF  THE  ISLANDS. 


"  Of  course,"  he  went  on,  "  I  shall  see  to  it  tha* 
you  don't  starve." 

"  You  don't  mean  to  say  that  I  must  live  here. 
Captain  Lingard?"  said  Willems,  in  a  kind  of  me- 
chanical voice  without  any  inflections. 

'*  Did  you  ever  hear  me  say  something  I  did  not 
mean?"  asked  Lingard.  "  You  said  you  didn't  want 
to  die  here — well,  you  must  live  .  .  .  Unless  you 
change  your  mind,"  he  added,  as  if  in  involuntary  after- 
thought. 

He  looked  at  Willems  narrowly,  then  shook  his 
head. 

"  You  are  alone,"  he  went  on.  "  Nothing  can  help 
you.  Nobody  will.  You  are  neither  white  nor  brown. 
You  have  no  colour  as  you  have  no  heart.  Your  ac- 
complices have  abandoned  you  to  me  because  I  am 
still  somebody  to  be  reckoned  with.  You  are  alone 
but  for  that  woman  there.  You  say  you  did  this  for 
her.     Well,  you  have  her." 

Willems  mumbled  something,  and  then  suddenly 
caught  his  hair  with  both  his  hands  and  remained 
standing  so.  A'issa,  who  had  been  looking  at  him. 
turned  to  Lingard. 

"  What  did  you  say,  Rajah  Laut?  "  she  cried. 

There  was  a  slight  stir  amongst  the  filmy  threads 
of  her  disorderer  hair,  the  bushes  by  the  river  sides 
trembled,  the  big  tree  nodded  precipitately  over  them 
with  an  abrupt  rustle,  as  if  waking  with  a  start  from 
a  troubled  sleep — and  the  breath  of  hot  breeze  passed, 
light,  rapid,  and  scorching,  under  the  clouds  that 
whirled  round,  unbroken  but  undulating,  like  a  rest- 
less phantom  of  a  sombre  sea. 

Lingard  looked  at  her  pityingly  before  he  said — 

"  I  have  told  him  that  he  must  live  here  all  his  life 
.  .  .  and  with  you." 

The  sun  seemed  to  have  gone  out  at  last  like  a 
flickering  light  away  up  beyond  the  clouds,  and  in  the 


AN  OUTCAST  OF   THE   ISLANDS. 


251 


Stifling  gloom  of  the  courtyard  the  three  figures  stood 
colourless  and  shadowy,  as  if  surrounded  by  a  black 
and  superheated  mist.  Aissa  looked  at  Willems,  who 
remained  still,  as  though  he  had  been  changed  into 
stone  in  the  very  act  of  tearing  his  hair.  Then  she 
turned  her  head  towards  Lingard  and  shouted — 

''  You  lie!  You  lie!  .  .  .  White  man.  Like  you 
all  do.  You  .  .  .  whom  AbduUa  made  small.  You 
lie!" 

Her  words  rang  out  shrill  and  venomous  with  her 
secret  scorn,  with  her  overpowering  desire  to  wound 
regardless  of  consequences;  in  her  woman's  reckless 
desire  to  cause  suffering  at  any  cost,  to  cause  it  by  the 
sound  of  her  own  voice — by  her  own  voice,  that  would 
carry  the  poison  of  her  thought  into  the  hated  heart. 

Willems  let  his  hands  fall,  and  began  to  mumble 
again.  Lingard  turned  his  ear  towards  him  instinc- 
tively, caught  something  that  sounded  like  ''  Very 
well  " — then  some  more  mumbling — then  a  sigh. 

"  As  far  as  the  rest  of  the  world  is  concerned," 
said  Lingard,  after  waiting  for  awhile  in  an  attentive 
attitude,  "  your  life  is  finished.  Nobody  will  be  able 
to  throw  any  of  your  villainies  in  my  teeth;  nobody 
will  be  able  to  point  at  you  and  say,  *  Here  goes  a 
scoundrel  of  Lingard's  up-bringing.'  You  are  buried 
here." 

"  And  you  think  that  I  will  stay  .  .  .  that  I  will 
submit?"  exclaimed  Willems,  as  if  he  had  suddenly 
recovered  the  power  of  speech. 

"  You  needn't  stay  here — on  this  spot,"  said  Lin- 
gard, drily.  "  There  are  the  forests — and  here  is  the 
river.  You  may  swim.  Fifteen  miles  up,  or  forty 
down.  At  one  end  you  will  meet  Almayer,  at  the  other 
the  sea.    Take  your  choice." 

He  burst  into  a  short,  joyless  laugh,  then  added 
with  severe  gravity — 

"  There  is  also  another  way." 


252  AN   OUTCAST   OF   THE   ISLANDS. 

"  If  you  want  to  drive  my  soul  into  damnation  by 
trying  to  drive  me  to  suicide  you  will  not  succeed," 
said  Willems  in  wild  excitement.  "  I  will  live.  I  shall 
repent.  I  may  escape.  .  .  .  Take  that  woman  away — 
she  is  sin." 

A  liooked  dart  of  fire  tore  in  two  the  darkness  of 
the  distant  horizon  and  lit  up  the  gloom  of  the  earth 
with  a  dazzling  and  ghastly  flame.  Then  the  thunder 
was  heard  far  away,  like  an  incredibly  enormous  voice 
muttering  menaces. 

Lingard  said — 

"  I  don't  care  what  happens,  but  I  may  tell  you 
that  without  that  woman  your  life  is  not  worth  much 
— not  twopence.  There  is ji  fellow  here  who  .  .  .  and 
Abdulla  himself  wouldn't  stand  on  any  ceremony. 
Think  of  that!    And  then  she  won't  go." 

He  began,  even  while  he  spoke,  to  walk  slowly 
down  towards  the  little  gate.  He  didn't  look,  but  he 
felt  as  sure  that  Willems  was  following  him  as  if  he 
had  been  leading  him  by  a  string.  Directly  he  had 
passed  through  the  wicket-gate  into  the  big  courtyard 
he  heard  a  voice,  behind  his  back,  saying — 

''  I  think  she  was  right.  I  ought  to  have  shot  you. 
I  couldn't  have  been  worse  of¥." 

"  Time  yet,"  answered  Lingard,  without  stopping 
or  looking  back.  "  But,  you  see,  you  can't.  There 
is  not  even  that  in  you." 

"  Don't  provoke  me.  Captain  Lingard,"  cried  Wil- 
lems. 

Lingard  turned  round  sharply.  Willems  and  Aissa 
stopped.  Another  forked  flash  of  lightning  split  up  the 
clouds  overhead,  and  threw  upon  their  faces  a  sudden 
burst  of  light — of  light  violent,  sinister  and  fleeting; 
and  in  the  same  instant  they  were  deafened  by  a  near, 
single  crash  of  thunder,  which  was  followed  by  a  rush- 
ing noise  like  a  frightened  sigh  of  the  startled  earth. 

"  Provoke  you! "  said  the  old  adventurer,  as  soon 


AN   OUTCAST   OF   THE   ISLANDS. 


253 


as  he  could  make  himself  heard.  "  Provoke  you! 
Hey!  What's  there  in  you  to  provoke?  What  do  I 
care  ?  " 

"  It  is  easy  to  speak  like  that  when  you  know  that 
in  the  whole  world — in  the  whole  world — I  have  no 
friend,"  said  Willems. 

''  Whose  fault?  "  said  Lingard,  sharply. 

Their  voices,  after  the  deep  and  tremendous  noise, 
sounded  to  them  very  unsatisfactory — thin  and  frail, 
like  the  voices  of  pigmies — and  they  became  suddenly 
silent,  as  if  on  that  account.  From  up  the  courtyard 
Lingard's  boatmen  came  down  and  passed  them,  keep- 
ing step  in  a  single  file,  their  paddles  on  shoulder,  and 
holding  their  heads  straight  with  their  eyes  fixed  on 
the  river.  Ali,  who  was  walking  last,  stopped  before 
Lingard,  very  stifif  and  upright.     He  said — 

"  That  one-eyed  Babalatchi  is  gone,  with  all  his 
women.  He  took  everything.  All  the  pots  and  boxes. 
Big.     Heavy.    Three  boxes." 

He  grinned  as  if  the  thing  had  been  amusing,  then 
added  with  an  appearance  of  anxious  concern,  *'  Rain 
coming." 

"  We  return,"  said  Lingard.    "  Make  ready." 

*'  Aye,  aye,  sir!  "  ejaculated  Ali  with  precision,  and 
moved  on.  He  had  been  quartermaster  with  Lingard 
before  making  up  his  mind  to  stay  in  Sambir  as  Al- 
mayer's  head  man.  He  strutted  towards  the  landing- 
place  thinking  proudly  that  he  was  not  like  those  other 
ignorant  boatmen,  and  knew  how  to  answer  properly 
the  very  greatest  of  white  captains. 

"  You  have  misunderstood  me  from  the  first,  CapjA'' 
tain  Eingard,"  said  Willems.  H  \ 

*^Have  I?  It's  all  right,_as  lQiig_as  there  is  no 
mistake  about  my  meaning,"  answered  Lingard,  stroll- 
ing"sIowly  to  the  landing-place.  Willems  followed 
him,  and  Aissa  followed  Willems. 

Two  hands  were  extended  to  help  Lingard  in  em- 


254  ^^  OUTCAST  OF   THE   ISLANDS. 

barking.  He  stepped  cautiously  and  heavily  into  the 
long  and  narrow  canoe,  and  sat  in  the  canvas  folding- 
chair that  had  been  placed  in  the  middle.  He  leaned 
back  and  turned  his  head  to  the  two  figures  that  stood 
on  the  bank  a  little  above  him.  A'issa's  eyes  were 
fastened  on  his  face  in  a  visible  impatience  to  see  him 
gone.  Willems'  look  went  straight  above  the  canoe, 
straight  at  the  forest  on  the  other  side  of  the  river. 

*'  All  right,  Ali,"  said  Lingard,  in  a  low  voice. 

A  slight  stir  animated  the  faces,  and  a  faint  murmur 
ran  along  the  line  of  paddlers.  The  foremost  man 
pushed  with  the  point  of  his  paddle,  canted  the  fore 
end  out  of  the  dead  water  into  the  current;  and  the 
canoe  fell  rapidly  off  before  the  rush  of  brown  water, 
the  stern  rubbing  gently  against  the  low  bank. 

"We  will  meet  again.  Captain  Lingard!"  cried 
Willems,  in  an  unsteady  voice. 

"  Never!  "  said  Lingard,  turning  half  round  in  his 
chair  to  look  at  Willems.  His  fierce  red  eyes  glittered 
remorselessly  over  the  high  back  of  his  seat. 

"  Must  cross  the  river.  Water  less  quick  over 
there,"  said  Ali. 

He  pushed  In  his  turn  now  with  all  his  strength, 
throwing  his  body  recklessly  right  out  over  the  stern. 
Then  he  recovered  himself  just  In  time  into  the  squat- 
ting attitude  of  a  monkey  perched  on  a  high  shelf,  and 
shouted:  "  Dayong!  " 

The  paddles  struck  the  water  tog^ether.  The  canoe 
darted  forward  and  went  on  steadilv  crossing  the  river 
with  a  sidewavs  motion  made  up  of  Its  own  speed  and 
the  downward  drift  of  the  current. 

Lingard  watched  the  shore  astern.  The  woman 
shook  her  hand  at  him,  and  then  squatted  at  the  feet 
of  the  man  who  stood  motionless.  After  a  while  she 
got  up  and  stood  beside  him,  reaching  up  to  his  head 
— and  Lingard  saw  then  that  she  had  wetted  some  part 
of  her  covering  and  was  trying  to  wash  the  dried  blood 


AN  OUTCAST  OF  THE  ISLANDS. 


255 


off  the  man's  immovable  face,  which  did  not  seem  to 
know  anything  about  it.  Lingard  turned  away  and 
threw  himself  back  in  his  chair,  stretching  his  legs 
out  with  a  sigh  of  fatigue.  His  head  fell  forward;  and 
under  his  red  face  the  white  beard  lay  fan-like  on  his 
breast ;  the  ends  of  fine  long  hairs  all  astir  in  the  faint 
draught  made  by  the  rapid  motion  of  the  craft  that 
carried  him  away  from  his  prisoner,  from  the  only 
thing  in  his  life  he  wished  to  hide. 

In  its  course  across  the  river  the  canoe  came  into 
the  line  of  Willems'  sight  and  his  eyes  caught  the 
image,  followed  it  eagerly  as  it  glided,  small  but  dis- 
tinct, on  the  dark  background  of  the  forest.  The  low 
canoe  itself  was  almost  invisible,  appearing  only  like 
a  narrow,  dark,  and  progressing  stroke  on  the  light- 
brown  surface  of  the  river,  but  he  could  see  plainly 
the  figure  of  the  man  sitting  in  the  middle.  All  his 
life  he  had  felt  that  man  behind  his  back,  a  reassuring 
presence  ready  with  help,  with  commendation,  with 
advice;  friendly  in  reproof,  enthusiastic  in  approba- 
tion; a  man  inspiring  confidence  by  his  strength,  by 
his  fearlessness,  .by  the  very^weakness  of  his  simple 
heart.  Seeing  him  go  away  beyond  his  reach,  Wil- 
fems  realised  how  much  of  himself  belonged  to  that 
man;  what  an  immense  place  that  man  had  in  his  life, 
in  his  thoughts,  in  his  belief  in  his  own  future;  in  all 
his  actions  and  in  all  his  hopes.  In  his  struggles  with 
himself,  with  temptation;  in  his  revolt  and  in  his  de- 
feat, in  his  recklessness  and  in  his  remorse,  he  had 
always  looked  unconsciously  towards  the  image  of 
that  man.  And  now  that  man  was  going  away.  He 
must  call  him  back. 

He  shouted,  and  his  words,  which  he  wanted  to 
throw  across  the  river,  seemed  to  fall  helplessly  at  his 
feet.  Aissa  put  her  hand  on  his  arm  in  a  restraining 
attempt,  but  he  shook  it  off.  He  wanted  to  call  back 
his  very  Hfe  that  was  going  away  from  him.       He 


256  AN   OUTCAST   OF   THE   ISLANDS. 

shouted  again — and  this  time  he  did  not  even  hear 
himself.  No  use.  He  would  never  return.  And  he 
stood  in  sullen  silence  looking  at  the  white  figure 
over  there,  lying  back  in  the  chair  in  the  middle  of 
the  boat;  a  figure  that  struck  him  suddenly  as  very 
terrible,  heartless  and  astonishing,  with  its  unnatural 
appearance  of  running  over  the  water  in  an  attitude 
of  languid  repose. 

For  a  time  nothing  on  earth  stirred,  seemingly,  but 
the  canoe,  which  glided  up-stream  with  a  motion  so 
even  and  smooth  that  it  did  not  convey  any  sense  of 
movement;  and  the  craft's  change  of  place  along  the 
succession  of  perpendicular  trunks  in  the  forest  on  its 
other  side  seemed  to  be  only  a  persistent  and  inex- 
plicable error  of  the  eye.  Overhead,  the  massed 
clouds  appeared  solid  and  steady  as  if  held  there  in  a 
powerful  grip,  but  on  their  uneven  surface  there  was  a 
continuous  and  trembling  glimmer,  a  faint  reflection  of 
the  distant  lightning  from  the  thunderstorm  that  had 
broken  already  on  the  coast  and  was  working  its  way 
up  the  river  with  low  and  angry  growls.  Willems 
looked  on,  as  motionless  as  everything  round  him  and 
above  him.  Only  his  eyes  seemed  to  live,  as  they 
followed  the  canoe  on  its  course  that  carried  it  away 
from  him,  steadily,  unhesitatingly,  finally;  as  if  it  was 
going,  not  up  the  great  river  into  the  momentous  ex- 
citement of  Sambir,  but  straight  into  the  past,  into 
the  past  crowded  yet  empty  like  an  old  cemetery  full 
of  neglected  graves,  where  lie  dead  hopes  that  never 
return. 

From  time  to  time  he  felt  on  his  face  the  passing 
warm  touch  of  an  immense  breath  coming  from  be- 
yond the  forest,  like  the  short  panting  of  an  oppressed 
world.  Then  the  heavy  air  round  him,  the  air  full  of 
heat,  odorous  and  sickly,  was  pierced  by  a  sharp  g^ust 
of  wind,  bringing  with  it  the  fresh,  damp  feel  of  the 
falling  rain;  and  all  the  innumerable  tree-tops  of  for- 


AN   OUTCAST   OF   THE   ISLANDS. 


257 


ests  before  his  eyes  swayed  to  the  left  and  sprang  back 
again  in  a  tumultuous  balancing  of  nodding  branches 
and  shuddering  leaves.  A  light  frown  ran  over  the 
river,  the  clouds  stirred  slowly,  changing  their  aspect 
but  not  their  place,  as  if  they  had  turned  ponderously 
over;  and  when  the  sudden  movement  had  died  out 
in  a  quickened  tremor  of  the  slenderest  twigs,  there 
was  a  short  period  of  formidable  immobility  above 
and  below,  during  which  the  voice  of  the  thunder  was 
heard,  speaking  in  a  sustained  emphatic  and  vibrating 
roll,  with  violent  louder  bursts  of  crashing  sound,  like 
a  wrathful  and  threatening  discourse  of  an  angry  god. 
For  a  moment  it  died  out,  and  then  another  gust  of 
wind  passed,  driving  before  it  a  white  mist  which  filled 
the  space  with  a  cloud  of  water-dust  that  hid  suddenly 
from  Willems  the  canoe,  the  forests,  the  river  itself; 
that  woke  him  up  from  his  numbness  in  a  forlorn 
shiver;  that  made  him  look  round  despairingly  to  see 
nothing  but  the  whirling  drift  of  rain  spray  before 
the  freshening  breeze,  while  through  it  the  heavy  big 
drops  fell  about  him  with  sonorous  and  rapid  beats 
upon  the  dry  earth.  He  made  a  few  hurried  steps  up 
the  courtyard  and  was  arrested  by  an  immense  sheet 
of  water  that  fell  all  at  once  on  him,  fell  sudden  and 
overwhelming  from  the  clouds,  cutting  his  respiration, 
streaming  over  his  head,  clinging  to  him,  running 
down  his  body,  off  his  arms,  off  his  legs.  He  stood 
,c:asping  while  the  water  beat  him  in  a  vertical  down- 
pour, drove  on  him  slanting  in  squalls,  and  he  felt  the 
drops  striking  him  from  above,  from  everywhere; 
drops  thick,  pressed  and  dashing  at  him  as  if  flung 
from  all  sides  by  a  mob  of  infuriated  hands.  From 
under  his  feet  a  great  vapour  of  broken  water  floated 
UD,  and  he  felt  the  ground  become  soft — melt  under 
him — and  saw  the  water  spring  out  from  the  dry  earth 
to  meet  the  water  that  fell  from  the  sombre  heaven. 
An  insane  dread  took  possession  of  him,  the  dread 


258  AN  OUTCAST  OF  THE  ISLANDS. 

of  all  that  water  around  him,  of  the  water  that  ran 
down  the  courtyard  towards  him,  of  the  water  that 
pressed  him  on  every  side,  of  the  slanting  water  that 
drove  across  his  face  in  wavering  sheets  which  gleamed 
pale  red  with  the  flicker  of  lightning  streaming 
through  them,  as  if  fire  and  water  were  falling  to- 
gether, monstrously  mixed,  upon  the  stunted  earth; 
were  falling  continuous  and  mingled  in  a  piercing  hiss 
— a  hiss,  loud,  prolonged,  persistent  and  indestructi- 
ble— that  vanished  in  every  burst  of  crashing  and  tear- 
ing noise  amongst  the  invisible  clouds :  only  to  return 
and  fill  the  waste  of  falling  water  with  the  sound  of 
its  distinct  and  passionless  whisper. 

He  wanted  to  run  away,  but  when  he  moved  it  was 
to  slide  about  painfully  and  slowly  upon  that  earth 
which  had  become  mud  so  suddenly  under  his  feet. 
He  fought  his  way  up  the  courtyard  like  a  man  push- 
ing through  a  crowd,  his  head  down,  one  shoulder 
forward,  stopping  often,  and  sometimes  carried  back  a 
pace  or  two  in  the  rush  of  water  which  his  heart  was 
not  stout  enough  to  face.  Aissa  followed  him  step 
by  step,  stopping  when  he  stopped,  recoiling  with  him, 
moving  forward  with  him  in  his  toilsome  way  up  the 
slippery  declivity  of  the  courtyard,  of  that  courtyard, 
from  which  everything  seemed  to  have  been  swept 
away  by  the  first  rush  of  the  mighty  downpour.  They 
could  see  nothing.  The  tree,  the  bushes,  the  house, 
and  the  fences — all  had  disappeared  in  the  thickness 
of  the  falHng  rain;  and  they  seemed  to  progress  into 
an  infinite  space  full  only  of  deafening  sound,  of  blind- 
ing fire,  and  of  water  falling  vertical  and  heavy.  Their 
hair  stuck,  streaming,  to  their  heads;  their  clothing 
clung  to  them,  beaten  close  to  their  bodies;  water 
ran  ofT  them,  off  their  heads  over  his  shoulders,  as  they 
moved,  patient,  upright,  slow  and  dark,  in  the  gleam 
clear  or  fiery  of  the  falling  drops,  under  the  roll  of 
unceasing  thunder  which  they  seemed  not  to  hear. 


AN   OUTCAST   OF   THE   ISLANDS. 


259 


And  they  appeared  like  two  wandering  ghosts  of  the 
drowned  that,  condemned  to  haunt  the  water  for  ever, 
had  come  up  from  the  river  to  look  at  the  world  under 
a  deluge. 

On  the  left  the  tree  seemed  to  step  out  to  meet 
them,  appearing  vaguely,  high,  motionless,  and  pa- 
tient, with  a  rustling  plaint  of  its  innumerable  leaves 
through  which  every  drop  of  water  tore  its  separate 
way  with  cruel  haste.  And  then,  to  the  right,  the  house 
surged  up  in  the  midst,  very  black  and  clamorous,  with 
the  patter  of  rain  on  its  high-pitched  roof — the  quick, 
loud  patter  that  rang  sharp  and  distracting  above  the 
steady  plash  of  the  water  running  off  the  eaves.  Down 
the  plankway  leading  to  the  door  flowed  a  thin  and 
pellucid  stream,  and  when  Willems  began  his  ascent 
it  broke  over  his  foot  as  if  he  were  going  up  a  steep 
ravine  in  the  bed  of  a  rapid  and  shallow  torrent.  Be- 
hind his  heels  two  streaming  smudges  of  mud  stained 
for  an  instant  the  purity  of  the  rushing  water,  and 
then  he  splashed  his  way  up  with  a  spurt  and  stood 
on  the  bamboo  platform  before  the  open  door  under 
the  shelter  of  the  overhanging  eaves — under  shelter 
at  last! 

A  low  moan  ending  in  a  broken  and  plaintive  mut- 
ter arrested  Willems  on  the  threshold.  He  peered 
round  in  the  half-light  under  the  roof  and  saw  the  old 
woman  crouching  close  to  the  wall  in  a  shapeless  heap, 
and  while  he  looked  he  felt  a  touch  of  two  arms  on 
his  shoulders.  Aissa!  He  had  forgotten  her.  He 
turned  quickly,  and  she  clasped  him  round  the  neck 
instantly,  pressing  close  to  him  as  if  afraid  of  violence 
or  escape.  He  stiffened  himself  in  repulsion,  in  hor- 
ror, in  the  mysterious  revolt  of  his  heart,  and  she  clung 
to  him — clung  to  him  as  if  he  was  a  refuge  from  misery, 
from  storm,  from  weariness,  from  fear,  from  despair; 
and  it  was  on  the  part  of  that  being  an  embrace 
terrible,    enraged    and    mournful,    in    which    all    her 


26o  AN   OUTCAST   OF   THE   ISLANDS. 

strength  went  out  to  make  him  captive,  to  hold  him 
for  ever. 

He  said  nothing.  He  looked  into  her  eyes  while 
he  struggled  with  her  fingers  about  the  nape  of  his 
neck,  and  suddenly  he  tore  her  hands  apart,  holding 
her  arms  up  in  a  strong  grip  of  her  wrists,  and  bend- 
ing his  swollen  face  close  over  hers,  he  said — 

"  It  is  all  your  doing.     You  .  .  ." 

She  did  not  understand  him — not  a  word.  He 
spoke  in  the  language  of  his  people — of  his  people  that 
know  no  mercy  and  no  shame.  And  he  was  angry. 
Alas!  he  was  always  angry  now,  and  always  speak- 
ing words  that  she  could  not  understand.  She  stood 
in  silence,  with  dolorous  wonder  looking  at  him 
through  her  patient  eyes,  while  he  shook  her  arms  a 
little  and  then  flung  them  down. 

''  Don't  go  in  there !  "  he  shouted.  "  I  want  to  be 
alone — I  mean  to  be  left  alone !  " 

He  went  in,  leaving  the  door  open. 

She  did  not  move.  What  need  to  understand  the 
words  when  they  are  spoken  in  such  a  voice?  In  that 
voice  which  did  not  seem  to  be  his  voice — his  voice 
when  he  spoke  by  the  brook,  when  he  was  never  angry 
and  always  smiling?  Her  eyes  were  fixed  upon  the 
dark  doorway,  but  her  hands  strayed  mechanically 
upwards;  she  took  up  all  her  hair,  and,  incHning  her 
head  slightly  over  her  shoulder,  wrung  out  the  long 
black  tresses,  twisting  them  persistently,  while  she 
stood,  sad  and  absorbed,  like  one  listening  to  an  in- 
ward voice — the  voice  of  bitter,  of  unavailing  regret. 
The  thunder  had  ceased,  the  wind  had  died  out,  and 
the  rain  fell  perpendicular  and  steady  through  a  great 
pale  clearness — the  light  of  remote  sun  coming  vic- 
torious from  amongst  the  dissolving  blackness  of  the 
clouds.  She  stood  near  the  doorway.  He  was  there 
— alone.  She  could  hear  his  breathing  in  the  gloom 
of  the  dwelling.    He  was  there.    He  spoke  not.    What 


AN  OUTCAST   OF   THE   ISLANDS.  261 

was  in  his  mind  now?  What  fear?  What  desire? 
Not  the  desire  of  her  as  in  the  days  when  he  used  to 
smile  .  .  .  How  could  she  know?  .  .  . 

And  a  sigh  coming  from  the  bottom  of  her  heart, 
flew  out  into  the  world  through  her  parted  lips.  A 
sigh  faint,  profound,  and  broken;  a  sigh  full  of  pain 
and  fear,  like  the  sigh  of  those  who  are  about  to  face 
the  unknown:  to  face  it  in  loneliness,  in  doubt,  and 
without  hope.  She  let  go  her  hair,  that  fell  scattered 
over  her  shoulders  like  a  funeral  veil,  and  she  sank 
down  suddenly  by  the  door.  Her  hands  clasped  her 
ankles;  she  rested  her  head  on  her  drawn-up  knees, 
and  remained  still,  very  still,  under  the  streaming 
mourning  of  her  hair.  She  was  thinking  of  him,  of 
the  days  by  the  brook;  she  was  thinking  of  all  that 
had  been  their  love — and  she  sat  in  the  abandoned 
posture  of  those  who  sit  weeping  by  the  dead,  of  those 
who  watch  and  mourn  over  a  corp«c. 


"^^M^  ^l  ^ 


PART   V. 
I. 

Almayer  sat  alone  on  the  verandah  of  his  house,  and, 
with  both  his  elbows  on  the  table,  held  his  head  be- 
tween his  hands  staring  before  him  away  over  the 
stretch  of  sprouting  young  grass  in  his  courtyard,  and 
over  the  short  jetty  with  its  cluster  of  small  canoes, 
amongst  which  his  big  whaleboat  floated  high,  like 
a  white  mother  of  all  that  dark  and  aquatic  brood. 
He  stared  on  the  river,  past  the  schooner  anchored  in 
mid-stream,  past  the  forests  of  the  left  bank ;  he  stared 
through  and  past  the  illusion  of  the  material  world; 
and  his  gaze  glided  over,  glided  between  the  crowd 
of  tangible  things — things  indifferent,  solid,  and  un- 
necessary— which  appeared  to  him  offensive  in  their 
ignorance  of  the  thought  that  dwelt  amongst  them, 
beyond  them,  above  them;  of  the  thought  intangible 
and  real,  invisible  and  tenacious;  of  the  thought  that, 
born  in  his  brain,  had  flowed  out  into  the  world  and 
lay  now,  like  a  film  transparent  and  disquieting,  upon 
the  colour,  upon  the  movement,  upon  the  form  of  all 
things  alive  and  dead. 

The  sun  was  sinking.  Under  the  sky  was  stretched 
a  network  of  white  threads,  a  network  fine  and  close- 
meshed,  where  here  and  there  were  caught  thicker 
white  vapours  of  globular  shape ;  and  to  the  eastward, 
above  the  ragged  barrier  of  the  forests,  surged  the 
summits  of  a  chain  of  great  clouds,  growing  bigger 
slowly,  in  imperceptible  motion,  as  they  climbed  up 

262 


AN   OUTCAST   OF   THE   ISLANDS. 


263 


above  the  tree-tops,  climbed  noiseless  and  gentle,  as 
if  careful  not  to  disturb  the  glowing  stillness  of  the 
earth  and  of  the  sky.  Abreast  of  the  house  the  river 
was  empty  but  for  the  motionless  schooner.  Higher 
up,  a  solitary  log  came  out  from  the  bend  above  and 
went  on  drifting  slowly  down  the  straight  reach:  a 
dead  and  wandering  tree  going  out  to  its  grave  in  the 
sea  between  two  ranks  of  trees  motionless  and  living. 

And  Almayer  sat,  his  chin  in  his  hands,  looking  on 
and  hating  all  this:  the  muddy  river;  the  faded  blue 
of  the  sky;  the  black  log  passing  by  on  its  first  and 
last  voyage;  the  green  sea  of  leaves — the  sea  that 
glowed,  shimmered,  and  stirred  above  the  uniform  and 
impenetrable  gloom  of  the  forests — the  joyous  sea  of 
living  green  powdered  with  the  brilliant  dust  of  oblique 
sunrays.  He  hated  all  this;  he  begrudged  every  day 
— every  minute — of  his  life  spent  amongst  all  these 
things,  of  his  life  that  wxnt  in  payment  of  his  future; 
he  begrudged  it  bitterly,  angrily,  with  enraged  and 
immense  regret,  like  a  miser  compelled  to  give  up 
some  of  his  treasure  to  a  near  relation.  And  yet  all 
this  was  very  precious  to  him.  It  was  the  present 
sign  of  a  splendid  future. 

He  pushed  the  table  away  impatiently,  got  up, 
made  a  few  steps  aimlessly,  then  stood  by  the  balus- 
trade and  again  looked  at  the  river — at  that  river 
which  would  have  been  the  instrument  for  the  making 
of  his  fortune  if  .  .  .  if  .  .  . 

"  What  an  abominable  brute!  "  he  said. 

He  was  alone,  but  he  spoke  aloud,  as  one  is  apt  to 
do  under  the  impulse  of  a  strong,  of  an  overmastering 
thought. 

*'  What  a  brute!  "  he  muttered  again. 

The  river  was  dark  now,  and  the  schooner  lay  on 
it,  a  black,  a  lonely,  and  a  graceful  form,  with  the  slen- 
der masts  darting  upwards  from  it  in  two  frail  and 
raking  lines.    The  shadows  of  the  evening  crept  up 


264  AN   OUTCAST  OF   THE  ISLANDS. 

the  trees,  crept  up  from  bough  to  bough,  till  at  last 
the  long  sunbeams  coursing  from  the  western  horizon 
skimmed  lightly  over  the  topmast  branches,  then  flew 
upwards  amongst  the  piled-up  clouds,  giving  them  a 
sombre  and  fiery  aspect  in  the  last  flush  of  light.  And 
suddenly  the  light  disappeared  as  if  lost  in  the  im- 
mensity of  the  great,  blue,  and  empty  hollow  over- 
head. The  sun  had  set,  and  the  forests  became  a 
straight  wall  of  formless  blackness.  Above  them,  on 
the  edge  of  the  lingering  clouds,  a  single  star  glim- 
mered fitfully,  obscured  now  and  then  by  the  rapid 
flight  of  high  and  invisible  vapours. 

Almayer  fought  with  the  uneasiness  within  his 
breast.  He  heard  Ali,  who  moved  behind  him  pre- 
paring his  evening  meal,  and  he  listened  with  strange 
attention  to  the  sounds  the  man  made — to  the  short, 
dry  bang  of  the  plate  put  upon  the  table,  to  the  clink 
of  glass  and  the  metallic  rattle  of  knife  and  fork.  The 
man  went  away.  Now  he  was  coming  back.  He 
would  speak  directly;  and  Almayer,  notwithstanding 
the  absorbing  gravity  of  his  thoughts,  listened  for  the 
sound  of  expected  words.  He  heard  them,  spoken  in 
English  with  painstaking  distinctness. 

"Ready,  sir!" 

"  All  right,"  said  Almayer,  curtly.  He  did  not 
move.  He  remained  pensive,  with  his  back  to  the 
table  upon  which  stood  the  lighted  lamp  brought  by 
Ali.  He  was  thinking:  Where  was  Lingard  now? 
Half-way  down  the  river  probably,  in  Abdulla's  ship. 
He  would  be  back  in  about  three  days — perhaps  less. 
And  then?  Then  the  schooner  would  have  to  be  got 
out  of  the  river,  and  when  that  craft  was  gone  they 
— he  and  Lingard — would  remain  here;  alone  with 
the  constant  thought  of  that  other  man,  that  other 
man  living  near  them!  What  an  extraordinary  idea 
to  keep  him  there  for  ever.  For  ever!  What  did  that 
mean — for  ever?    Perhaps  a  year,  perhaps  ten  years. 


AN   OUTCAST   OF    THE    ISLANDS. 


265 


Preposterous!  Keep  him  there  ten  years — or  may  be 
twenty!  The  fellow  was  capable  of  living  more  than 
twenty  years.  And  for  all  that  time  he  would  have  to 
be  watched,  fed,  looked  after.  There  was  nobody  but 
Lingard  to  have  such  insane  notions.  Twenty  years! 
Why,  no!  In  less  than  ten  years  their  fortune  would 
be  made  and  they  would  leave  this  place,  first  for 
Batavia — yes,  Batavia — and  then  for  Europe.  Eng- 
land, no  doubt.  Lingard  would  want  to  go  to  Eng- 
land. And  would  they  leave  that  man  here?  How 
would  that  fellow  look  in  ten  years?  Very  old  prob- 
ably. Well,  devil  take  him.  Nina  would  be  fifteen. 
She  would  be  rich  and  very  pretty,  and  he  himself 
would  not  be  so  old  then  .  .  . 

Almayer  smiled  into  the  night. 

.  .  .  Yes,  rich!  Why!  Of  course!  Captain  Lin- 
gard was  a  resourceful  man,  and  he  had  plenty  of 
money  even  now.  They  were  rich  already;  but  not 
enough.  Decidedly  not  enough.  Money  brings 
money.  That  gold  business  was  good.  Famous! 
Captain  Lingard  was  a  remarkable  man.  He  said  the 
gold  was  there — and  it  was  there.  Lingard  knew  what 
he  was  talking  about.  But  he  had  queer  ideas.  For 
instance",  about  Willems.  Now  what  did  he  want  to 
keep  him  alive  for?    Why? 

"That  scoundrel,"  muttered  Almayer  again. 

"  Makan  Tuan !  "  ejaculated  AH  suddenly,  very 
loud  in  a  pressing  tone. 

Almayer  walked  to  the  table,  sat  down,  and  his 
anxious  visage  dropped  from  above  into  the  light 
thrown  down  by  the  lamp-shade.  He  helped  himself 
absently,  and  began  to  eat  in  great  mouthfuls. 

.  .  .  Undoubtedly,  Lingard  was  the  man  to  stick 
to!  The  man  undismayed,  masterful  and  ready.  How 
quickly  he  had  planned  a  new  future  when  Willems' 
treachery  destroyed  their  established  position  in  Sam- 
bif  !     And  the  position  SYStk  now  was  not  so  bad 


266  AN    OUTCAST    OF   THE   ISLANDS. 

What  an  immense  prestige  that  Lingard  had  with  all 
those  people — Arabs,  Malays  and  all.  Ah,  it  was  good 
to  be  able  to  call  a  man  like  that  father.  Fine!  Won- 
der how  much  money  really  the  old  fellow  had.  Peo- 
ple talked — they  exaggerated  surely,  but  if  he  had  only 
half  of  what  they  said  .  .  . 

He  drank,  throwing  his  head  up,  and  fell  to  again. 

.  .  .  Now  if  that  Willems  had  known  how  to  play 
his  cards  well,  had  he  stuck  to  the  old  fellow  he  would 
have  been  in  his  position,  he  would  be  now  married 
to  Lingard's  adopted  daughter  with  his  future  assured 
— splendid  .  .  . 

"The  beast!"  growled  Almayer,  between  two 
mouthfuls. 

Ali  stood  rigidly  straight  with  an  uninterested  face, 
his  gaze  lost  in  the  night  which  pressed  round  the 
small  circle  of  light  that  shone  on  the  table,  on  the 
glass,  on  the  bottle,  and  on  Almayer's  head  as  he 
leaned  over  his  plate  moving  his  jaws. 

...  A  famous  man  Lingard — yet  you  never  knew 
what  h€  would  do  next.  It  was  notorious  that  he  had 
shot  a  white  man  once  for  less  than  Willems  had  done. 
For  less?  .  .  .  Why,  for  nothing,  so  to  speak!  It 
was  not  even  his  own  quarrel.  It  was  about  some 
Malay  returning  from  pilsrimage  with  wife  and  chil- 
dren. Kidnapped,  or  robbed,  or  something.  A  stupid 
story — an  old  storv.  And  now  he  goes  to  see  that 
Willems  and — nothing.  Comes  back  talking  big 
about  his  prisoner;  but  after  all  he  said  very  little. 
What  did  that  Willems  tell  him?  What  passed  be- 
tween them?  The  old  fellow  must  have  had  some- 
thing in  his  mind  when  he  let  that  scoundrel  of¥.  And 
Joanna!  She  would  get  round  the  old  fellow.  Sure. 
Then  he  would  forsrive  perhaps.  Impossible.  But 
at  any  rate  he  would  waste  a  lot  of  money  on  them. 
The  old  man  was  tenacious  in  his  hates,  but  also  in 
bis  affections.    He  had  known  that  beast  Willems  from 


AN   OUTCAST   OF   THE    ISLANDS. 


267 


a  boy.  They  would  make  it  up  in  a  year  or  so.  Every- 
thing is  possible:  why  did  he  not  rush  off  at  first  and 
kill  the  brute?  That  would  have  been  more  like  Lin- 
gard.  .  .  . 

Almayer  laid  down  his  spoon  suddenly,  and  push- 
ing his  plate  away,  threw  himself  back  in  the  chair. 

.  .  .  Unsafe.  Decidedly  unsafe.  He  had  no  mind 
to  share  Lingard's  money  with  anybody.  Lingard's 
money  was  Nina's  money  in  a  sense.  And  if  Willems 
managed  to  become  friendly  with  the  old  man  it  would 
be  dangerous  for  him — Almayer.  Such  an  unscrupu- 
lous scoundrel!  He  would  oust  him  from  his  position. 
He  would  lie  and  slander.  Everything  would  be  lost. 
Lost.  Poor  Nina.  What  would  become  of  her?  Poor 
child.  For  her  sake  he  must  remove  that  Willems. 
Must.  But  how?  Lingard  wanted  to  be  obeyed.  Im- 
possible to  kill  Willems.  Lingard  might  be  angry. 
Incredible,  but  so  it  was.     He  might  .  .  . 

A  wave  of  heat  passed  through  Almayer's  body, 
flushed  his  face,  and  broke  out  of  him  in  copious  per- 
spiration. He  wriggled  in  his  chair,  and  pressed  his 
hands  together  under  the  table.  What  an  awful  pros- 
pect! He  fancied  he  could  see  Lingard  and  Willems 
reconciled  and  going  away  arm-in-arm,  leaving  him 
alone  in  this  God-forsaken  hole — in  Sambir — in  this 
deadly  swamp!  And  all  his  sacrifices,  the  sacrifice  of 
his  independence,  of  his  best  years,  his  surrender  to 
Lingard's  fancies  and  caprices,  would  go  for  nothing! 
Horrible!  Then  he  thought  of  his  little  daughter — 
his  daughter! — and  the  ghastliness  of  his  supposition 
overpowered  him.  He  had  a  deep  emotion,  a  sudden 
emotion  that  made  him  feel  quite  faint  at  the  idea  of 
that  young-  life  spoiled  before  it  had  fairly  begun.  His 
dear  child's  life!  Lying  back  in  his  chair  he  covered 
his  face  with  both  his  hands. 

Ali  glanced  down  at  him  and  said,  unconcernedly 
—"Master  finish?" 
x8 


268  AN   OUTCAST   OF   THE   ISLANDS. 

Almayer  was  lost  in  the  immensity  of  his  com- 
miseration for  himself,  for  his  daughter,  who  was — 
perhaps — not  going  to  be  the  richest  woman  in  the 
world — notwithstanding  Lingard's  promises.  He  did 
not  understand  the  other's  question,  and  muttered 
through  his  fingers  in  a  doleful  tone — 

"  What  did  you  say?    What?    Finish  what?  " 

*'  Clear  up  meza,"  explained  AH. 

''Clear  up!"  burst  out  Almayer,  with  incompre- 
hensible exasperation.  "  Devil  take  you  and  the  table. 
Go!    Stupid!     Chatterer!    Chelakka!     Go!  go!" 

He  leaned  forward,  glaring  at  his  head  man,  then 
sank  back  in  his  seat  with  his  arms  hanging  straight 
down  on  each  side  of  the  chair.  And  he  sat  motion- 
less in  a  meditation  so  concentrated  and  so  absorbing, 
with  all  his  power  of  thought  so  deep  within  himself, 
that  all  expression  disappeared  from  his  face  in  an 
aspect  of  staring  vacancy. 

AH  was  clearing  the  table.  He  dropped  negligently 
the  tumbler  into  the  greasy  dish,  flung  there  the  spoon 
and  fork,  then  slipped  in  the  plate  with  a  push  amongst 
the  remnants  of  food.  He  took  up  the  dish,  tucked 
up  the  bottle  under  his  armpit,  and  went  ofif. 

"My  hammock!"  shouted  Almayer  after  him. 

"  Ada!  I  come  soon,"  answered  AH  from  the  door- 
way in  an  offended  tone,  looking  back  over  his  shoul- 
der. .  .  .  How  could  he  clear  the  table  and  hang  the 
hammock  at  the  same  time.  Ya — wa!  Those  white 
men  were  all  aHke.  Wanted  everything  at  once.  Like 
children  ... 

The  indistinct  murmur  of  his  criticism  went  away, 
faded  and  died  out  together  with  the  soft  footfall  of  his 
bare  feet  in  the  dark  passage. 

For  some  time  Almayer  did  not  move.  His 
thoughts  were  busy  at  work  shaping  a  momentous 
resolution,  and  in  the  perfect  silence  of  the  house  he 
beHeved  that  he  could  hear  the  noise  of  the  operation 


AN    OUTCAST   OF   THE   ISLANDS. 


269 


as  if  the  work  had  been  done  with  a  hammer.  He 
certainly  felt  a  thumping  of  strokes,  faint,  profound, 
and  startling,  somewhere  low  down  in  his  breast;  and 
he  was  aware  of  a  sound  of  dull  knocking,  abrupt  and 
rapid,  in  his  ears.  Now  and  then  he  held  his  breath, 
unconsciously,  too  long,  and  had  to  reHeve  himself 
by  a  deep  expiration  that  whistled  dully  through  his 
pursed  lips.  The  lamp  standing  on  the  far  side  of  the 
table  threw  a  section  of  a  lighted  circle  on  the  floor, 
where  his  outstretched  legs  stuck  out  from  under  the 
table  with  feet  rigid  and  turned  up  like  the  feet  of  a 
corpse;  and  his  set  face  with  fixed  eyes  would  have 
been  also  like  the  face  of  the  dead,  but  for  its  vacant 
yet  conscious  aspect;  the  hard,  the  stupid,  the  stony 
aspect  of  one  not  dead,  but  only  buried  under  the  dust, 
ashes,  and  corruption  of  personal  thoughts,  of  base 
fears,  of  selfish  desires. 

"I  will  do  it!" 

Not  till  he  heard  his  own  voice  did  he  know  that 
he  had  spoken.  It  startled  him.  He  stood  up.  The 
knuckles  of  his  hand,  somewhat  behind  him,  were  rest- 
ing on  the  edge  of  the  table  as  he  remained  still  with 
one  foot  advanced,  his  lips  a  little  open,  and  thought: 
It  would  not  do  to  fool  with  Lingard.  But  I  must 
risk  it.  It's  the  only  way  I  can  see.  I  must  tell  her. 
She  has  some  little  sense.  I  wish  they  were  a  thou- 
sand miles  ofif  already.  A  hundred  thousand  miles. 
I  do.  And  if  it  fails.  And  she  blabs  out  then  to  Lin- 
gard? She  seemed  a  fool.  No;  probably  they  will 
get  away.  And  if  they  did,  would  Lingard  believe 
me?  Yes.  I  never  lied  to  him.  He  would  believe. 
I  don't  know  .  .  .  Perhaps  he  won't.  ..."  I  must  do 
it.    Must!  "  he  argued  aloud  to  himself. 

For  a  long  time  he  stood  still,  looking  before  him 
with  an  intense  gaze,  a  gaze  rapt  and  immobile,  that 
seemed  to  watch  the  minute  quivering  of  a  delicate 
balance,  coming  to  a  rest. 


270  AN   OUTCAST   OF   THE   ISLANDS. 

To  the  left  of  him,  in  the  whitewashed  wall  of  the 
house  that  formed  the  back  of  the  verandah,  there 
was  a  closed  door.  Black  letters  were  painted  on  it 
proclaiming  the  fact  that  behind  that  door  there  was 
the  ofifice  of  Lingard  &  Co.  The  interior  had  been 
furnished  by  Lingard  when  he  had  built  the  house 
'for  his  adopted  daughter  and  her  husband,  and  it  had 
been  furnished  with  reckless  prodigality.  There  was 
an  office  desk,  a  revolving  chair,  bookshelves,  a  safe: 
all  to  humour  the  weakness  of  Almayer,  who  thought 
all  those  paraphernalia  necessary  to  successful  trading. 
Lingard  had  laughed,  but  had  taken  immense  trouble 
to  get  the  things.  It  pleased  him  to  make  his  protege, 
his  adopted  son-in-law,  happy.  It  had  been  the  sensa- 
tion of  Sambir  some  five  years  ago.  While  the  things 
were  being  landed,  the  whole  settlement  literally  lived 
on  the  river  bank  in  front  of  the  Rajah  Laut's  house, 
to  look,  to  wonder,  to  admire.  .  .  .  What  a  big  meza, 
with  many  boxes  fitted  all  over  it  and  under  it!  What 
did  the  white  man  do  with  such  a  table?  And  look, 
look,  O  Brothers!  There  is  a  green  square  box,  with 
a  gold  plate  on  it,  a  box  so  heavy  that  those  twenty 
men  cannot  drag  it  up  the  bank.  Let  us  go,  brothers, 
and  help  pull  at  the  ropes,  and  perchance  we  may  see 
what's  inside.  Treasure,  no  doubt.  Gold  is  heavy 
and  hard  to  hold,  O  Brothers!  Let  us  go  and  earn 
a  recompense  from  the  fierce  Rajah  of  the  Sea  who 
shouts  over  there,  with  a  red  face.  See!  There  is  a 
man  carrying  a  pile  of  books  from  the  boat!  What  a 
number  of  books.  What  were  they  for?  .  .  .  And  an 
old  invalided  jurumudi,  who  had  travelled  over  many 
seas  and  had  heard  holy  men  speak  in  far-ofif  coun- 
tries, explained  to  a  small  knot  of  unsophisticated  citi- 
zens of  Sambir  that  those  books  were  books  of  magic 
— of  magic  that  guides  the  white  men's  ships  over 
the  seas,  that  gives  them  their  wicked  wisdom  and 
their  strength;  of  magic  that  makes  them  great,  pow- 


AN  OUTCAST  OF  THE   ISLANDS. 


271 


erful,  and  irresistible  while  they  live,  and — praise  be 
to  Allah! — the  victims  of  Satan,  the  slaves  of  Jehan- 
num  when  they  die. 

And  when  he  saw  the  room  furnished  Almayer 
had  felt  proud.  In  his  exultation  of  an  empty-headed 
quill-driver,  he  thought  himself,  by  the  virtue  of  that 
furniture,  at  the  head  of  a  serious  business.  He  had 
sold  himself  to  Lingard  for  these  things — married  the 
Malay  girl  of  his  adoption  for  the  reward  of  these 
things  and  of  the  great  wealth  that  must  necessarily 
follow  upon  conscientious  book-keeping.  He  found 
out  very  soon  that  trade  in  Sambir  meant  something 
entirely  different.  He  could  not  guide  Patalolo,  con- 
trol the  irrepressible  old  Sahamin,  or  restrain  the 
youthful  vagaries  of  the  fierce  Bahassoen  with  pen, 
ink,  and  paper.  He  found  no  successful  magic  in  the 
blank  pages  of  his  ledgers;  and  gradually  he  lost  his 
old  point  of  view  in  the  saner  appreciation  of  his  situa- 
tion. The  room  known  as  the  office  became  neglected 
then  Hke  a  temple  of  an  exploded  superstition.  At 
first,  when  his  wife  reverted  to  her  original  savagery, 
Almayer,  now  and  again,  had  sought  refuge  from  her 
there;  but  after  their  child  began  to  speak,  to  know 
him,  he  became  braver,  for  he  found  courage  and  con- 
solation in  his  unreasoning  and  fierce  affection  for  his 
daughter — in  the  impenetrable  mantle  of  selfishness 
he  wrapped  round  both  their  lives :  round  himself,  and 
that  young  life  that  was  also  his. 

When  Lingard  ordered  him  to  receive  Joanna  into 
his  house,  he  had  a  truckle  bed  put  into  the  office — 
the  only  room  he  could  spare.  The  big  ofBce  desk 
was  pushed  on  one  side,  and  Joanna  came  with  her 
little  shabby  trunk  and  with  her  child  and  took  pos- 
session in  her  dreamy,  slack,  half-asleep  way;  took 
possession  of  the  dust,  dirt,  and  squalor,  where  she  ap- 
peared naturally  at  home,  where  she  dragged  a  melan- 
choly and  dull  existence;  an  existence  made  of  sad 


2/2  AN   OUTCAST   OF   THE   ISLANDS. 

remorse  and  frightened  hope  amongst  the  hopeless 
disorder — the  senseless  and  vain  decay  of  all  these  em- 
blems and  civilised  commerce.  Bits  of  white  stuff; 
rags  yellow,  pink,  blue:  rags  limp,  brilHant  and  soiled, 
trailed  on  the  floor,  lay  on  the  desk  amongst  the  som- 
bre covers  of  books  soiled,  grimy,  but  stiff-backed, 
in  virtue,  perhaps,  of  their  European  origin.  The 
biggest  set  of  bookshelves  was  partly  hidden  by  a 
petticoat,  the  waistband  of  which  was  caught  upon  the 
back  of  a  slender  book  pulled  a  little  out  of  the  row 
so  as  to  make  an  improvised  clothes-peg.  The  fold- 
ing canvas  bedstead  stood  nearly  in  the  middle  of  the 
room,  stood  anyhow,  parallel  to  no  wall,  as  if  it  had 
been,  in  the  process  of  transportation  to  some  remote 
place,  dropped  casually  there  by  tired  bearers.  And 
on  the  tumbled  blankets  that  lay  in  a  disordered  heap 
on  its  edge,  Joanna  sat  almost  all  day  with  her  stock- 
ingless  feet  upon  one  of  the  bed  pillows  that  were 
somehow  always  kicking  about  the  floor.  She  sat 
there,  vaguely  tormented  at  times  by  the  thought  of 
her  absent  husband,  but  most  of  the  time  thinking 
tearfully  of  nothing  at  all,  looking  with  swimming 
eyes  at  her  Httle  son — at  the  big-headed,  pasty-faced 
and  sickly  Louis  Willems — who  rolled  a  glass  ink- 
stand, solid  with  dried  ink,  about  the  floor,  and  tot- 
tered after  it  with  the  portentous  gravity  of  demeanour 
and  absolute  absorption  by  the  business  in  hand  that 
characterise  the  pursuits  of  early  childhood.  Through 
the  half-open  shutter  a  ray  of  sunlight,  a  ray  merci- 
less and  crude,  came  into  the  room,  beat  in  the  early 
morning  upon  the  safe  in  the  far-oif  corner,  then,  trav- 
elling against  the  sun,  cut  at  midday  the  big  desk  in 
two  with  its  solid  and  clean-edged  brilliance;  with  its 
hot  brilliance  in  which  a  swarm  of  flies  hovered  in 
dancing  flight  over  some  dirty  plate  forgotten  there 
amongst  yellow  papers  for  many  a  day.  And  towards 
the  evening  the  cynical  ray  seemed  to  cling  to  the 


AN  OUTCAST  OF  THE   ISLANDS. 


273 


ragged  petticoat,  lingered  on  it  with  wicked  enjoy- 
ment of  that  misery  it  had  exposed  all  day;  lingered 
on  the  corner  of  the  dusty  bookshelf,  in  a  red  glow 
intense  and  mocking,  till  it  was  suddenly  snatched 
by  the  setting  sun  out  of  the  way  of  the  coming  night. 
And  the  night  entered  the  room.  The  night  abrupt, 
impenetrable  and  all-filling  with  its  flood  of  darkness; 
the  night  cool  and  merciful;  the  blind  night  that  saw 
nothing,  but  could  hear  the  fretful  whimpering  of  the 
child,  the  creak  of  the  bedstead,  Joanna's  deep  sighs 
as  she  turned  over,  sleepless,  in  the  confused  con- 
viction of  her  wickedness,  thinking  of  that  man  mas- 
terful, fair-headed  and  strong — a  man  hard  perhaps, 
but  her  husband;  her  clever  and  handsome  husband 
to  whom  she  had  acted  so  cruelly  on  the  advice  of  badj 
people,  if  her  own  people;  and  of  her  poor,  dear,  de 
ceived  mother. 

To  Almayer,  Joanna's  presence  was  a  constant 
worry,  a  worry  unobtrusive  yet  intolerable;  a  con- 
stant, but  mostly  mute,  warning  of  possible  danger. 
In  view  of  the  absurd  softness  of  Lingard's  heart,  every 
one  in  whom  Lingard  manifested  the  slightest  interest 
was  to  Almayer  a  natural  enemy.  He  was  quite  alive 
to  that  feeling,  and  in  the  intimacy  of  the  secret  inter- 
course with  his  inner  self  had  often  congratulated  him- 
self upon  his  own  wide-awake  comprehension  of  his 
position.  In  that  way,  and  impelled  by  that  motive. 
Almayer  had  hated  many  and  various  persons  at  vari- 
ous times.  But  he  never  had  hated  and  feared  any- 
body so  much  as  he  did  hate  and  fear  Willems.  Even 
after  Willems'  treachery,  which  seemed  to  remove  him 
beyond  the  pale  of  all  human  sympathy,  Almayer  mis- 
trusted the  situation  and  groaned  in  spirit  every  time 
he  caught  sight  of  Joanna. 

He  saw  her  very  seldom  in  the  daytime.  But  in 
the  short  and  opal-tinted  twilights,  or  in  the  azure 
dusk  of  starry  evenings,  he  often  saw,  before  he  slept. 


I 


274  AN   OUTCAST   OF   THE    ISLANDS. 

the  slender  and  tall  figure  trailing  to  and  fro  the  ragged 
tail  of  its  white  gown  over  the  dried  mud  of  the  river- 
side in  front  of  the  house.  Once  or  twice  when  he  sat 
late  on  the  verandah,  with  his  feet  upon  the  deal  table 
on  a  level  with  the  lamp,  reading  the  seven  months 
old  copy  of  the  North  China  Herald  brought  by  Lin- 
gard,  he  heard  the  stairs  creak,  and,  looking  round 
the  paper,  he  saw  her  frail  and  meagre  form  rise  step 
by  step  and  toil  across  the  verandah,  carrying  with 
difficulty  the  big,  fat  child,  whose  head,  lying  on  the 
mother's  bony  shoulder,  seemed  of  the  same  size  as 
Joanna's  own.  Several  times  she  had  assailed  him 
with  tearful  clamour  or  mad  entreaties  asking  about 
her  husband,  wanting  to  know  where  he  was,  when  he 
would  be  back;  and  ending  every  such  outburst  with 
despairing  and  incoherent  self-reproaches  that  were 
absolutely  incomprehensible  to  Almayer.  On  one  or 
two  occasions  she  had  overwhelmed  her  host  with 
vituperative  abuse,  making  him  responsible  for  her 
husband's  absence.  Those  scenes,  begun  without 
any  warning,  ended  abruptly  in  a  sobbing  flight  and 
a  bang  of  the  door;  stirred  the  house  with  a  sudden, 
a  fierce,  and  an  evanescent  disturbance;  like  those  in- 
explicable whirlwinds  that  rise,  run,  and  vanish  with- 
out apparent  cause  upon  the  sun-scorched  dead  level 
of  arid  and  lamentable  plains. 

But  to-night  the  house  was  quiet,  deadly  quiet, 
while  Almayer  stood  still,  watching  that  delicate  bal- 
ance where  he  was  weighing  all  his  chances,  Joanna's 
intelligence,  Lingard's  credulitv,  Willems'  reckless 
audacity,  desire  to  escape,  readiness  to  seize  an  un- 
expected opportunitv.  He  weighed,  anxious  and  at- 
tentive, his  fears  and  his  desires  against  the  tremendous 
risk  of  a  quarrel  with  Lingard.  .  .  .  Yes.  Lingard 
would  be  angry.  Lingard  might  suspect  him  of  some 
connivance  in  his  prisoner's  escape — but  surely  he 
would  not  quarrel  with  him — Almayer — about  those 


AN   OUTCAST   OF   THE   ISLANDS.  2/5 

people  once  they  were  gone— gone  to  the  devil  in  their 
own  way.    And  then  he  had  hold  of  Lingard  through 
the  little  girl.    Good.    What  an  annoyance.    A  prison- 
er!   As  if  one  could  keep  him  in  there.    He  was  bound 
to  get  away  some  time  or  other.    Of  course.    A  situa- 
tion like  that  can't  last.     Anybody  could   see   that. 
Lingard's  eccentricity  passed  all  bounds.     You  may 
kill  a  man,  but  you  mustn't  torture  him.    It  was  almost 
criminal.     It  caused  worry,  trouble,  and  unpleasant- 
ness. .  .  .  Almayer  for  a  moment  felt  very  angry  with 
Lingard.     He  made  him  responsible  for  the  anguish 
he  suffered  from,  for  the  anguish  of  doubt  and  fear; 
for  compelling  him— the  practical  and  innocent  Al- 
layer—to  such  painful  efforts  of  mind  in  order  to 
find  out  some  issue  for  absurd  situations  created  by 
the  unreasonable  sentimentality  of  Lingard's  unprac- 
tical impulses.  ^^ 
*'  Now  if  the  fellow  were  dead  it  would  be  all  right, 
said  Almayer  to  the  verandah. 

He  stirred  a  little,  and,  scratching  his  nose  thought- 
fully, revelled  in  a  short  flight  of  fancy,  showing  him 
his  own  image  crouching  in  a  big  boat,  that  floated 
arrested— say  fifty  yards  off— abreast  of  Willems' 
landing-place.  In  the  bottom  of  the  boat  there  was 
a  gun.  A  loaded  gun.  One  of  the  boatmen  would 
shout,  and  Willems  would  answer— from  the  bushes. 
The  rascal  would  be  suspicious.  Of  course.  Then 
the  man  would  wave  a  piece  of  paper  urging  Willems 
to  come  to  the  landing-place  to  receive  an  important 
message.  "  From  the  Rajah  Laut "  the  man  would 
yell  as  the  boat  edged  in-shore,  and  that  would  fetch 
Willems  out.  Wouldn't  it?  Rather!  And  Almayer 
saw  himself  jumping  up  at  the  right  moment,  taking 
aim,  pulling  the  trigger— and  Willems  tumbUng  over, 
his  head  in  the  water— the  swine! 

He  seemed  to  hear  the  report  of  the  shot.    It  made 
him  thrillfrom  head  to  foot  where  he  stood.  .  .  .  How 


276  AN  OUTCAST  OF   THE   ISLANDS. 

Simple!  .  .  .  Unfortunately  .  .  .  Lingard  .  .  .  He 
sighed,  shook  his  head.  Pity.  Couldn't  be  done.  And 
couldn't  leave  him  there  either!  Suppose  the  Arabs 
were  to  get  hold  of  him  again — for  instance  to  lead 
an  expedition  up  the  river!  Goodness  only  knows 
what  harm  would  come  of  it.  .  .  . 

The  balance  was  at  rest  now  and  inclining  to  the 
side  of  immediate  action.  Almayer  walked  to  the  door, 
walked  up  very  close  to  it,  knocked  loudly,  and  turned 
his  head  away,  looking  frightened  for  a  moment  at 
what  he  had  done.  After  waiting  for  a  while  he  put 
his  ear  against  the  panel  and  Hstened.  Nothing.  He 
composed  his  features  into  an  agreeable  expression 
while  he  stood  listening  and  thinking  to  himself.  "  I 
hear  her.  Crying.  Eh?  I  believe  she  has  lost  the 
little  wits  she  had  and  is  crying  night  and  day  since 
I  began  to  prepare  her  for  the  news  of  her  husband's 
death — as  Lingard  told  me.  I  wonder  what  she  thinks. 
It's  just  like  father  to  make  me  invent  all  these  stories 
for  nothing  at  all.  Out  of  kindness.  Kindness! 
Damn!     .  .  .  She  isn't  deaf,  surely." 

He  knocked  again,  then  said  in  a  friendly  tone, 
grinning  benevolently  at  the  closed  door — 

"  It's  me,  Mrs.  Willems.  I  want  to  speak  to  you. 
I  have  .  .  .  have  .  ,  .  important  news.  .  .  ." 

"What  is  it?" 

''  News,"  repeated  Almayer,  distinctly.  "  News 
about  your  husband.  Your  husband!  .  .  .  Damn 
him!  "  he  added,  under  his  breath. 

He  heard  a  stumbling  rush  inside.  Things  were 
overturned.    Joanna's  agitated  voice  cried — 

"  News!    What?    What?    I  am  coming  out." 

"  No,"  shouted  Almayer.  "  Put  on  some  clothes, 
Mrs.  Willems,  and  let  me  in.  It's  .  .  .  very  confiden- 
tial.   You  have  a  candle,  haven't  you?" 

She  was  knocking  herself  about  blindly  amongst 
the  furniture  in  that  room.    The  candlestick  was  upset. 


AN  OUTCAST   OF  THE   ISLANDS. 


277 


Matches  were  struck  ineffectually.  The  matchbox 
fell.  He  heard  her  drop  on  her  knees  and  grope  over 
the  floor  while  she  kept  on  moaning  in  maddened  dis- 
traction. 

*'  Oh,  my  God!  News!  Yes  .  .  .  yes.  ...  Ah! 
where  .  .  .  where  .  .  .  candle.  Oh,  my  God!  ...  I 
can't  find  .  .  .  Don't  go  away,  for  the  love  of  Heav- 
en .  .  ." 

"  I  don't  want  to  go  away,"  said  Almayer,  impa- 
tiently, through  the  keyhole;  "but  look  sharp.  It's 
confi  .  .  .  it's  pressing." 

He  stamped  his  foot  lightly,  waiting  with  his  hand 
on  the  door-handle.  He  thought  anxiously:  The 
woman's  a  perfect  idiot.  Why  should  I  go  away?  She 
will  be  off  her  head.  She  will  never  catch  my  mean- 
ing.    She's  too  stupid. 

She  was  moving  now  inside  the  room  hurriedly  and 
in  silence.  He  waited.  There  was  a  moment  of  per- 
fect stillness  in  there,  and  then  she  spoke  in  an  ex- 
hausted voice,  in  words  that  were  shaped  out  of  an 
expiring  sigh — out  of  a  sigh  light  and  profound,  like 
words  breathed  out  by  a  woman  before  going  off  into 
a  dead  faint — 

"  Come  in." 

He  pushed  the  door.  AH,  coming  through  the 
passage  with  an  armful  of  pillows  and  blankets  pressed 
to  his  breast  high  up  under  his  chin,  caught  sight  of 
his  master  before  the  door  closed  behind  him.  He 
was  so  astonished  that  he  dropped  his  bundle  and 
stood  staring  at  the  door  for  a  long  time.  He  heard 
the  voice  of  his  master  talking.  Talking  to  that  Sirani 
woman!  Who  was  she?  He  had  never  thought  about 
that  really.  He  speculated  for  a  while  hazily  upon 
things  in  general.  She  was  a  Sirani  woman — and  ugly. 
He  made  a  disdainful  grimace,  picked  up  the  bed- 
ding, and  went  about  his  work,  slinging  the  hammock 
between  two  uprights  of  the  verandah.    .    .    .    Those 


2/8 


AN   OUTCAST   OF   THE   ISLANDS. 


things  did  not  concern  him.  She  was  ugly,  and 
brought  here  by  the  Rajah  Laut,  and  his  master  spoke 
to  her  in  the  night.  Very  well.  He,  AH,  had  his  work 
to  do.  Sling  the  hammock — go  round  and  see  that 
the  watchmen  were  awake — take  a  look  at  the  moor- 
ings of  the  boats,  at  the  padlock  of  the  big  storehouse 
— then  go  to  sleep.  To  sleep!  He  shivered  pleasantly. 
He  leaned  with  both  arms  over  his  master's  hammock 
and  fell  into  a  light  doze. 

A  scream,  unexpected,  piercing — a  scream  begin- 
ning at  once  in  the  highest  pitch  of  a  woman's  voic* 
and  then  cut  short,  so  short  that  it  suggested  the  swift 
work  of  death — caused  Ali  to  jump  on  one  side  away 
from  the  hammock,  and  the  silence  that  succeeded 
seemed  to  him  as  startling  as  the  awful  shriek.  He 
was  thunderstruck  with  surprise.  Almayer  came  out 
of  the  office,  leaving  the  door  ajar,  passed  close  to  his 
servant  without  taking  any  notice,  and  made  straight 
for  the  water-chatty  hung  on  a  nail  in  a  draughty  place. 
He  took  it  down  and  came  back,  missing  the  petrified 
Ali  by  an  inch.  He  moved  with  long  strides,  yet, 
notwithstanding  his  haste,  stopped  short  before  the 
door,  and,  throwing  his  head  back,  poured  a  thin 
stream  of  water  down  his  throat.  While  he  came  and 
went,  while  he  stopped  to  drink,  while  he  did  all  this, 
there  came  steadily  from  the  dark  room  the  sound  of 
feeble  and  persistent  crying,  the  crying  of  a  sleepy  and 
frightened  child.  After  he  had  drunk,  Almayer  went 
in,  closing  the  door  carefully. 

Ali  did  not  budge.  That  Sirani  woman  shrieked! 
He  felt  an  immense  curiosity  very  unusual  to  his  stolid 
disposition.  He  could  not  take  his  eyes  ofif  the  door. 
Was  she  dead  in  there?  How  interesting  and  funny! 
He  stood  with  open  mouth  till  he  heard  again  the  rat- 
tle of  the  door-handle.  Master  coming  out.  He  piv- 
oted on  his  heels  with  great  rapidity  and  made  believe 
to  be  absorbed  in  the  contemplation  of  the  night  out- 


AN   OUTCAST  OF   THE   ISLANDS. 


279 


side.  He  heard  Almayer  moving  about  behind  his 
back.     Chairs  were  displaced.    His  master  sat  down. 

'*  AH,"  said  Almayer. 

His  face  was  gloomy  and  thoughtful.  He  looked 
at  his  head  man,  who  had  approached  the  table,  then 
he  pulled  out  his  watch.  It  was  going.  Whenever 
Lingard  was  in  Sambir  Almayer's  watch  was  going. 
He  would  set  it  by  the  cabin  clock,  telhng  himself 
every  time  that  he  must  really  keep  that  watch  going 
for  the  future.  And  every  time,  when  Lingard  went 
away,  he  would  let  it  run  down  and  would  measure 
his  weariness  by  sunrises  and  sunsets  in  an  apathetic 
indifference  to  mere  hours;  to  hours  only;  to  hours 
that  had  no  importance  in  Sambir  life,  in  the  tired 
stagnation  of  empty  days;  when  nothing  mattered  to 
him  but  the  quality  of  guttah  and  the  size  of  rattans; 
where  there  were  no  small  hopes  to  be  watched  for; 
where  to  him  there  was  nothing  interesting,  nothing 
supportable,  nothing  desirable  to  expect;  nothing  bit- 
ter but  the  slowness  of  the  passing  days;  nothing 
sweet  but  the  hope,  the  distant  and  glorious  hope — 
the  hope  wearying,  aching  and  precious,  of  getting 
away. 

He  looked  at  the  watch.  Half-past  eight.  Ali 
waited  stolidly. 

"  Go  to  the  settlement,"  said  Almayer,  ''  and  tell 
Mahmet  Banjer  to  come  and  speak  to  me  to-night." 

Ali  went  off  muttering.  He  did  not  like  his  er- 
rand. Banjer  and  his  two  brothers  were  Bajow  vaga- 
bonds who  had  appeared  lately  in  Sambir  and  had 
been  allowed  to  take  possession  of  a  tumbledown 
abandoned  hut,  on  three  posts,  belonging  to  Lingard 
&:  Co.,  and  standing  just  outside  their  fence.  Ali  dis- 
approved of  the  favour  shown  to  those  strangers.  Any 
kind  of  dwelling  was  valuable  in  Sambir  at  that  time, 
and  if  master  did  not  want  that  old  rotten  house  he 
might  have  given  it  to  him,  Ali,  who  was  his  servant. 


28o  AN   OUTCAST   OF   THE   ISLANDS. 

instead  of  bestowing  it  upon  those  bad  men.  Every- 
body knew  they  were  bad.  It  was  well  known  that 
they  had  stolen  a  boat  from  Hinopari,  who  was  very 
aged  and  feeble  and  had  no  sons ;  and  that  afterwards, 
by  the  truculent  recklessness  of  their  demeanour,  they 
had  frightened  the  poor  old  man  into  holding  his 
tongue  about  it.  Yet  everybody  knew  of  it.  It  was 
one  of  the  tolerated  scandals  of  Sambir,  disapproved 
and  accepted,  a  manifestation^ofjhat  base  acquiescence 
in  ^uccess,  of  that  inexpressed  and  coy^a^ 
of  strength  th^  exists,  infamous  and  irremediable,  at 
the  bottom  of  all  hearts,  in  all  societjesj  whenever 
men  congregaFe;  in  bigger  and  more  virtuous  places 
than  Sambir,  and  in  Sambir  also,  where,  as  in  other 
places,  one  man  could  steal  a  boat  with  impunity  while 
another  would  have  no  right  to  look  at  a  paddle. 

Almayer,  leaning  back  in  his  chair,  meditated.  The 
more  he  thought,  the  more  he  felt  convinced  that  Ban- 
jer  and  his  brothers  were  exactly  the  men  he  wanted. 
Those  fellows  were  sea  gipsies,  and  could  disappear 
without  attracting  notice;  and  if  they  returned,  no- 
body— and  Lingard  least  of  all — would  dream  of  seek- 
ing information  from  them.  Moreover,  they  had  no 
personal  interest  of  any  kind  in  Sambir  affairs — had 
taken  no  sides — would  know  nothing  anyway. 
He  called  in  a  strong  voice:  **  Mrs.  Willems!" 
She  came  out  quickly,  almost  startling  him,  so 
much  did  she  appear  as  though  she  had  surged  up 
through  the  floor,  on  the  other  side  of  the  table.  The 
lamp  was  between  them,  and  Almayer  moved  it  aside, 
looking  up  at  her  from  his  chair.  She  was  crying. 
She  was  crying  gently,  silently,  in  a  ceaseless  welling 
up  of  tears  that  did  not  fall  in  drops,  but  seemed  to 
overflow  in  a  clear  sheet  from  under  her  eyelids — • 
seemed  to  flow  at  once  all  over  her  face,  her  cheeks, 
and  over  her  chin  that  glistened  with  moisture  in  the 
li^ht.    Her  breast  and  her  shoulders  were  shaken  re- 


AN  OUTCAST  OF   THE  ISLANDS.  28 1 

peatedly  by  a  convulsive  and  noiseless  catching  in 
her  breath,  and  after  every  spasmodic  sob  her  sorrow- 
ful little  head,  tied  up  in  a  red  kerchief,  trembled  on 
her  long  neck,  round  which  her  bony  hand  gathered 
and  clasped  the  disarranged  dress. 

"  Compose  yourself,  Mrs.  Willems,"  said  Almayer. 

She  emitted  an  inarticulate  sound  that  seemed  to 
be  a  faint,  a  very  far  off,  a  hardly  audible  cry  of  mortal 
distress.  Then  the  tears  went  on  flowing  in  profound 
stillness. 

"  You  must  understand  that  I  have  told  you  all  this 
because  I  am  your  friend — real  friend,"  said  Almayer, 
after  looking  at  her  for  some  time  with  visible  dissatis- 
faction. *'  You,  his  wife,  ought  to  know  the  danger 
he  is  in.  Captain  Lingard  is  a  terrible  man,  you 
know." 

She  blubbered  out,  sniffing  and  sobbing  together. 

*'  Do  you  .  .  .  you  .  .  .  speak  .  .  .  the  .  .  .  the 
truth  now?" 

"  Upon  my  word  of  honour.  On  the  head  of  my 
child,"  protested  Almayer.  "  I  had  to  deceive  you  till 
now  because  of  Captain  Lingard.  But  I  couldn't  bear 
it.  Think  only  what  a  risk  I  run  in  telling  you — if 
ever  Lingard  was  to  know !  Why  should  I  do  it?  Pure 
friendship.  Qjear  Peter  was  my  colleague  in  Macassar 
for  years,  you  know." 

'*  What  shall  I  do  .  .  .  what  shall  I  do!  "  she  ex- 
claimed, faintly,  looking  around  on  every  side  as  if 
she  could  not  make  up  her  mind  which  way  to  rush  off. 

**  You  must  help  him  to  clear  out,  now  Lingard  is 
away.  He  offended  Lingard,  and  that's  no  joke.  Lin- 
gard said  he  would  kill  him.  He  will  do  it,  too,"  said 
Almayer,  earnestly. 

She  wrung  her  hands.  "Oh!  the  wicked  man. 
The  wicked,  wicked  man!  "  she  moaned,  swaying  her 
body  from  side  to  side. 

*'Yes.    Yes!    He  is  terrible,"  assented  Almayer. 


282  AN   OUTCAST   OF   THE   ISLANDS. 

'' You  must  not  lose  any  time.  I  say!  Do  you  under- 
stand me,  Mrs.  Willems?  Think  of  your  husband. 
Of  your  poor  husband.  How  happy  he  will  be.  You 
will  bring  him  his  life — actually  his  life.  Think  of  him." 

She  ceased  her  swaying  movement,  and  now,  with 
her  head  sunk  between  her  shoulders,  she  hugged  her- 
self with  both  her  arms;  and  she  stared  at  Almayer 
with  wild  eyes,  while  her  teeth  chattered,  rattling  vio- 
lently and  uninterruptedly,  with  a  very  loud  sound, 
in  the  deep  peace  of  the  house. 

'*  Oh!  Mother  of  God!"  she  wailed.  *' I  am  a 
miserable  woman.  Will  he  forgive  me?  The  poor, 
innocent  man.  Will  he  forgive  me?  Oh,  Mr.  Al- 
mayer, he  is  so  severe.  Oh!  help  me.  ...  I  dare  not. 
.  .  .  You  don't  know  what  I've  done  to  him.  ...  I 
daren't !  .  .  .  I  can't !  .  .  .  God  help  me !  " 

The  last  words  came  in  a  despairing  cry.  Had  she 
been  flayed  alive  she  could  not  have  sent  to  heaven  a 
more  terrible,  a  more  heartrending  and  anguished 
plaint. 

"  Sh!  Sh!  "  hissed  Almayer,  jumping  up.  "  You 
will  wake  up  everybody  with  your  shouting." 

She  kept  on  sobbing  then  without  any  noise,  and 
Almayer  stared  at  her  in  boundless  astonishment. 
The  idea  that,  maybe,  he  had  gone  wrong  by  con- 
fiding in  her,  upset  him  so  much  that  for  a  moment 
he  could  not  find  a  connected  thought  in  his  head. 

At  last  he  said:  "  I  swear  to  you  that  your  husband 
is  in  such  a  position  that  he  would  welcome  the  devil 
.  .  .  listen  well  to  me  .  .  .  the  devil  himself  if  the 
devil  came  to  him  in  a  canoe.  Unless  I  am  much  mis- 
taken," he  added,  under  his  breath.  Then  again, 
loudly:  "  If  you  have  any  little  difference  to  make  up 
with  him,  I  assure  you — I  swear  to  you — this  is  your 
time!" 

The  ardentlv  persuasive  tone  of  his  words— he 
thought — would  have  carried  irresistible  conviction  to 


AN   OUTCAST  OF  THE  ISLANDS.  283 

a  graven  image.  He  noticed  with  satisfaction  that 
Joanna  seemed  to  have  got  some  inkhng  of  his  mean- 
ing.    He  continued,  speaking  slowly — 

"  Look  here,  Mrs.  Willems.  I  can't  do  anything. 
Daren't.  But  I  will  tell  you  what  I  will  do.  There 
will  come  here  in  about  ten  minutes  a  Bugis  man — 
you  know  the  language;  you  are  from  Macassar.  He 
has  a  large  canoe;  he  can  take  you  there.  To  the 
new  Rajah's  clearing,  tell  him.  They  are  three  broth- 
ers, ready  for  anything  if  you  pay  them  .  .  .  you  have 
some  money.    Haven't  you?  " 

She  stood — perhaps  listening — but  giving  no  sign 
of  intelligence,  and  stared  at  the  floor  in  sudden  immo- 
bility, as  if  the  horror  of  the  situation,  the  overwhelm- 
ing sense  of  her  own  wickedness  and  of  her  husband's 
great  danger,  had  stunned  her  brain,  her  heart,  her 
will — had  left  her  no  faculty  but  that  of  breathing 
and  of  keeping  on  her  feet.  Almayer  swore  to  him- 
self with  much  mental  profanity  that  he  had  never 
seen  a  more  useless,  a  more  stupid  being. 

"  D'ye  hear  me?  "  he  said,  raising  his  voice.  "  Do 
try  to  understand.  Have  you  any  money?  Money. 
Dollars.  Guilders.  Money!  What's  the  matter  with 
you?" 

Without  raising  her  eyes  she  said,  in  a  voice  that 
sounded  weak  and  undecided  as  if  she  had  been  mak- 
ing a  desperate  effort  of  memory — 

"  The  house  has  been  sold.  Mr.  Hudig  was 
angry." 

Almayer  gripped  the  edge  of  the  table  with  all  his 
strength.  He  resisted  manfully  an  almost  uncontrolla- 
ble impulse  to  fly  at  her  and  box  her  ears. 

"  It  was  sold  for  money,  I  suppose,"  he  said  with 
studied  and  incisive  calmness.  "  Have  you  got  it? 
Who  has  got  it?" 

She  looked  up  at  him,  raising  her  swollen  eyelids 
with  a  great  effort,  in  a  sorrowful  expression  of  hei 
19 


284  ^^  OUTCAST  OF   THE   ISLANDS. 

drooping  mouth,  of  her  whole  besmudged  and  tear- 
stained  face.     She  whispered  resignedly — 

"  Leonard  had  some.  He  wanted  to  get  married. 
And  uncle  Antonio;  he  sat  at  the  door  and  would 
not  go  away.  And  Aghostina — she  is  so  poor  .  .  . 
and  so  many,  many  children — little  children.  And 
Luiz  the  engineer.  He  never  spoke  a  word  against 
my  husband.  Also  our  cousin  Maria.  She  came  and 
shouted,  and  my  head  was  so  bad,  and  my  heart  was 
worse.  Then  cousin  Salvator  and  old  Daniel  da  Souza, 
who  .  .  ." 

Almayer  had  listened  to  her  speechless  with  rage. 
He  thought:  I  must  give  money  now  to  that  idiot. 
Must!  Must  get  her  out  of  the  way  now  before  Lin- 
gard  is  back.  He  made  two  attempts  to  speak  before 
he  managed  to  burst  out — 

*'  I  don't  want  to  know  their  blasted  names!  Tell 
me,  did  all  those  infernal  people  leave  you  anything? 
To  you!    That's  what  I  want  to  know!  " 

"  I  have  two  hundred  and  fifteen  dollars,"  said 
Joanna,  in  a  frightened  tone. 

Almayer  breathed  freely.  He  spoke  with  great 
friendliness — 

"  That  will  do.  It  isn't  much,  but  it  will  do.  Now 
when  the  man  comes  I  will  be  out  of  the  way.  You 
speak  to  him.  Give  him  some  money;  only  a  little, 
mind!  And  promise  more.  Then  when  you  get  there 
you  will  be  guided  by  your  husband,  of  course.  And 
don't  forget  to  tell  him  that  Captain  Lingard  is  at  the 
mouth  of  the  river — the  northern  entrance.  You  will 
remember.  Won't  you?  The  northern  branch.  Lin- 
gard is — death." 

Joanna  shivered.    Almayer  went  on  rapidly — 

"  I  would  have  given  you  money  if  you  had  wanted 
it.  'Pon  my  word!  Tell  your  husband  I've  sent  you 
to  him.  And  tell  him  not  to  lose  any  time.  And  also 
say  to  him  from  me  that  we  shall  meet — some  day 


AN  OUTCAST  OF  THE   ISLANDS.  285 

That  I  could  not  die  happy  unless  I  met  him  once 
more.  Only  once.  I  love  him,  you  know.  I  prove 
it.     Tremendous  risk  to  me — this  business  is!" 

Joanna  snatched  his  hand  and  before  he  knew  what 
she  would  be  at,  pressed  it  to  her  lips. 

*'  Mrs.  Willems!  Don't.  What  are  you  .  .  ."  cried 
the  abashed  Almayer,  tearing  his  hand  away. 

"  Oh,  you  are  good ! "  she  cried,  with  sudden  ex- 
altation. "  You  are  noble  ...  I  shall  pray  every  day. 
...  to  all  the  saints  ...  I  shall  .  .  ." 

"Never  mind  .  .  .  never  mind!"  stammered  out 
Almayer,  confusedly,  without  knowing  very  well  what 
he  was  saying.  "  Only  look  out  for  Lingard.  ...  I 
am  happy  to  be  able  ...  in  your  sad  situation  .  .  .  be- 
lieve me.  .  .  ." 

They  stood  with  the  table  between  them,  Joanna 
looking  down,  and  her  face,  in  the  half-light  above 
the  lamp,  appeared  like  a  soiled  carving  of  old  ivory — 
a  carving,  with  accentuated  anxious  hollows,  of  old, 
very  old  ivory.  Almayer  looked  at  her,  mistrustful, 
hopeful.  He  was  saying  to  himself:  How  frail  she 
is!  I  could  upset  her  by  blowing  at  her.  She  seems 
to  have  got  some  idea  of  what  must  be  done,  but  will 
she  have  the  strength  to  carry  it  through?  I  must 
trust  to  luck  now! 

Somewhere  far  in  the  back  courtyard  Ali's  voice 
rang  suddenly  in  angry  remonstrance — 

"  Why  did  you  shut  the  gate,  O  father  of  all  mis- 
chief! You  a  watchman!  You  are  onlv  a  wnld  man. 
Did  I  not  tell  you  I  was  coming  back?     You  .  .  ." 

''  I  am  of¥,  Mrs.  Willems,"  exclaimed  Almaver. 
"  That  man  is  here — with  my  servant.  Be  calm.  Try 
to  .  .  ." 

He  heard  the  footsteps  of  the  two  men  in  the  pas- 
sage, and  without  finishing  his  sentence  ran  rapidly 
down  the  steps  towards  the  riverside. 


286  AN  OUTCAST  OF   THE  ISLANDS. 


II. 

For  the  next  half-hour  Almayer,  who  wanted  to 
give  Joanna  plenty  of  time,  stumbling  amongst  the 
lumber  in  distant  parts  of  his  enclosure,  sneaked  along 
the  fences,  or  held  his  breath,  flattened  against  grass 
walls  behind  various  outhouses;  all  this  to  escape  Ali's 
inconveniently  zealous  search  for  his  master.  He 
heard  him  talk  with  the  head  watchman — sometimes 
quite  close  to  him  in  the  darkness — then  moving  oflf, 
coming  back,  wondering,  and,  as  the  time  passed, 
growing  uneasy. 

"  He  did  not  fall  into  the  river? — say,  thou  blind 
watcher!  "  AH  was  growling  in  a  bullying  tone,  to  the 
other  man.  "  He  told  me  to  fetch  Mahmat,  and  when 
I  came  back  swiftly  I  found  him  not  in  the  house. 
There  is  that  Sirani  woman  there,  so  that  Mahmat 
cannot  steal  anything,  but  it  is  in  my  mind,  the  night 
will  be  half  gone  before  I  rest." 

He  shouted — 

**  Master!    O  master!    O  mast  .  .  ." 

"  What  are  you  making  that  noise  for?  "  said  Al- 
mayer, with  severity,  stepping  out  close  to  them. 

The  two  Malays  leaped  aw^ay  from  each  other  in 
their  surprise. 

*'  You  may  go.  I  don't  want  you  any  more  to- 
night, Ali,"  went  on  Almayer.     "  Is  Mahmat  there?" 

"  Unless  the  ill-behaved  savage  got  tired  of  wait- 
ing. Those  men  know  not  politeness.  They  should 
not  be  spoken  to  by  white  men,"  said  Ali,  resent- 
fully. 

Almayer  went  towards  the  house,  leaving  his  ser- 
vants to  wonder  where  he  had  sprung  from  so  unex- 
pectedly. The  watchman  hinted  obscurely  at  powers 
of  invisibility  possessed  by  the  master,  who  often  at 
night  .  .  .  Ali  interrupted  him  with  great  scorn.    Not 


I 


AN  OUTCAST   OF  THE   ISLANDS.  287 

every  white  man  had  the  power.  Now,  the  Rajah 
Laut  could  make  himself  invisible.  Also,  he  could  be 
in  two  places  at  once,  as  everybody  knew;  except  he 
— the  useless  watchman — who  knew  no  more  about 
white  men  than  a  wild  pig!    Ya-wa! 

And  AH  strolled  towards  his  hut  yawning  loudly. 

As  Almayer  ascended  the  steps  he  heard  the  noise 
of  a  door  flung  to,  and  when  he  entered  the  verandah 
he  saw  only  Mahmat  there,  close  to  the  doorway  of 
the  passage.  Mahmat  seemed  to  be  caught  in  the  very 
act  of  slinking  away,  and  Almayer  noticed  that  with 
satisfaction.  Seeing  the  white  man,  the  Malay  gave 
up  his  attempt  and  leaned  against  the  wall.  He  was 
a  short,  thick,  broad-shouldered  man  with  very  dark 
skin  and  a  wide,  stained,  bright-red  mouth  that  un- 
covered, when  he  spoke,  a  close  row  of  black  and  glis- 
tening teeth.  His  eyes  were  big,  prominent,  dreamy 
and  restless.  He  said  sulkily,  looking  all  over  the 
place  from  under  his  eyebrows — 

"  White  Tuan,  you  are  great  and  strong — and  I 
a  poor  man.  Tell  me  what  is  your  will,  and  let  me 
go  in  the  name  of  God.    It  is  late." 

Almayer  examined  the  man  thoughtfully.  How 
could  he  find  out  whether  .  .  .  He  had  it!  Lately 
he  had  employed  that  man  and  his  two  brothers  as 
extra  boatmen  to  carry  stores,  provisions,  and  new 
axes  to  a  camp  of  rattan  cutters  some  distance  up  the 
river.  A  three  days'  expedition.  He  would  test  him 
now  that  way.     He  said  negligently — 

"  I  want  you  to  start  at  once  for  the  camp,  with  a 
surat  for  the  Kavitan.    One  dollar  a  day." 

The  man  appeared  plunged  in  dull  hesitation,  but 
Almayer,  who  knew  his  Malays,  felt  pretty  sure  from 
his  aspect  that  nothing  would  induce  the  fellow  to  go. 
He  urged — 

"  It  is  important — and  if  you  are  swift  I  shall  give 
two  dollars  for  the  last  day." 


288  AN   OUTCAST   OF   THE   ISLANDS. 

''  No,  Tuan.  We  do  not  go,"  said  the  man,  in  a 
hoarse  whisper. 

"Why?" 

"  We  start  on  another  journey." 

"Where?" 

"  To  a  place  we  know  of,"  said  Mahmat,  a  little 
louder,  in  a  stubborn  manner,  and  looking  at  the  floor. 

Almayer  experienced  a  feeling  of  immense  joy.  He 
said,  with  affected  annoyance — 

"  You  men  live  in  my  house — and  it  is  as  if  it  were 
your  own.     I  may  want  my  house  soon." 

Mahmat  looked  up. 

"  We  are  men  of  the  sea  and  care  not  for  a  roof 
when  we  have  a  canoe  that  will  hold  three,  and  a  pad- 
dle apiece.  The  sea  is  our  house.  Peace  be  with  you, 
Tuan." 

He  turned  and  went  away  rapidly,  and  Almayer 
heard  him  directly  afterwards  in  the  courtyard  calling 
to  the  watchman  to  open  the  gate.  Mahmat  passed 
through  the  gate  in  silence,  but  before  the  bar  had 
been  put  up  behind  him  he  had  made  up  his  mind 
that  if  the  white  man  ever  wanted  to  eject  him  from 
his  hut,  he  would  burn  it  and  also  as  many  of  the 
white  man's  other  buildings  as  he  could  safely  get  at. 
And  he  began  to  call  to  his  brothers  before  he  was 
inside  the  dilapidated  dwelling. 

"  All's  well!  "  muttered  Almayer  to  himself,  taking 
some  loose  Java  tobacco  from  a  drawer  in  the  table. 
"  Now  if  anything  comes  out  I  am  clear.  I  asked  the 
man  to  go  up  the  river.  I  urged  him.  He  will  say 
so  himself.     Good." 

He  began  to  charge  the  china  bowl  of  his  pipe,  a 
pipe  with  a  long  cherry  stem  and  a  curved  mouth- 
piece, pressing  the  tobacco  down  with  his  thumb  and 
thinking.  No.  I  sha'n't  see  her  again.  Don't  want 
to.  I  will  give  her  a  good  start,  then  go  in  chase — 
and  send  an  express  boat  after  father.    Yes!  that's  it. 


AN   OUTCAST   OF   THE    ISLANDS.  289 

He  approached  the  door  of  the  office  and  said, 
holding  his  pipe  away  from  his  hps — 

"  Good  luck  to  you,  Mrs.  Willems.  Don't  lose 
any  time.  You  may  get  along  by  the  bushes;  the 
fence  there  is  out  of  repair.  Don't  lose  time.  Don't 
forget  that  it  is  a  matter  of  .  .  .  life  and  death.  And 
don't  forget  that  I  know  nothing.     I  trust  you." 

He  heard  inside  a  noise  as  of  a  chest-lid  falling 
down.  She  made  a  few  steps.  Then  a  sigh,  profound 
and  long,  and  some  faint  words  w^hich  he  did  not 
catch.  He  moved  away  from  the  door  on  tiptoe,  kicked 
ofif  his  sHppers  in  a  corner  of  the  verandah,  then  en- 
tered the  passage  puffing  at  his  pipe;  entered  cau- 
tiously in  a  gentle  creaking  of  planks  and  turned  into 
a  curtained  entrance  to  the  left.  There  was  a  big  room. 
On  the  floor  a  small  binnacle  lamp — that  had  found 
its  way  to  the  house  years  ago  from  the  lumber-room 
of  the  Flash — did  duty  for  a  night-light.  It  glimmered 
minute  and  dull  in  the  great  darkness.  Almayer 
walked  to  it,  and  picking  it  up  revived  the  flame  by 
pulling  the  wick  with  his  fingers,  which  he  shook  di- 
rectly after  with  a  grimace  of  pain.  Sleeping  shapes, 
covered — head  and  all — with  white  sheets,  lay  about 
on  the  mats  on  the  floor.  In  the  middle  of  the  room 
a  small  cot,  under  a  square  white  mosquito  net,  stood 
— the  only  piece  of  furniture  between  the  four  walls 
■ — looking  like  an  altar  of  transparent  marble  in  a 
gloomy  temple.  A  woman,  half-lying  on  the  floor 
with  her  head  dropped  on  her  arms,  which  were 
crossed  on  the  foot  of  the  cot,  woke  up  as  Almayer 
strode  over  her  outstretched  legs.  She  sat  up  with- 
out a  word,  leaning  forward,  and,  clasping  her  knees, 
stared  down  with  sad  eyes,  full  of  sleep. 

Almayer,  the  smoky  light  in  one  hand,  his  pipe  in 
the  other,  stood  before  the  curtained  cot  looking  at 
his  daughter — at  his  little  Nina — at  that  part  of  him- 
self, at  that  small  and  unconscious  particle  of  humanity 


290  AN   OUTCAST   OF   THE    ISLANDS. 

that  seemed  to  him  to  contain  all  his  soul.  And  it 
was  as  if  he  had  been  bathed  in  a  bright  and  warm 
wave  of  tenderness,  in  a  tenderness  greater  than  the 
world,  more  precious  than  life;  the  only  thing  real, 
living,  sweet,  tangible,  beautiful  and  safe  amongst  the 
elusive,  the  distorted  and  menacing  shadows  of  exist- 
ence. On  his  face,  lit  up  indistinctly  by  the  short  yel- 
low flame  of  the  lamp,  came  a  look  of  rapt  attention 
while  he  looked  into  her  future.  And  he  could  see 
things  there!  Things  charming  and  splendid  pass- 
ing before  him  in  a  magic  unrolling  of  resplendent 
pictures;  pictures  of  events  brilliant,  happy,  inexpres- 
sibly glorious,  that  would  make  up  her  life.  He  would 
do  it!  He  would  do  it.  He  would!  He  would — for 
that  child!  And  as  he  stood  in  the  still  night,  lost 
in  his  enchanting  and  gorgeous  dreams,  while  the  as- 
cending, thin  thread  of  tobacco  smoke  spread  into  a 
faint  bluish  cloud  above  his  head,  he  appeared  strange- 
ly impressive  and  ecstatic:  like  a  devout  and  mystic 
worshipper,  adoring,  transported  and  mute;  burning 
incense  before  a  shrine,  a  diaphanous  shrine  of  a  child- 
idol  with  closed  eyes;  before  a  pure  and  vaporous 
shrine  of  a  small  god — fragile,  powerless,  unconscious 
and  sleeping. 

When  Ali,  roused  by  loud  and  repeated  shouting 
of  his  name,  stumbled  outside  the  door  of  his  hut,  he 
saw  a  narrow  streak  of  trembling  gold  above  the  for- 
ests and  a  pale  sky  with  faded  stars  overhead:  signs 
of  the  coming  day.  His  master  stood  before  the  door 
waving  a  piece  of  paper  in  his  hand  and  shouting  ex- 
citedly— ''Quick,  Ali!  Quick!"  When  he  saw  his 
servant  he  rushed  forward,  and  pressing  the  paper  on 
him  objurgated  him,  in  tones  which  induced  AH  to 
think  that  something  awful  had  happened,  to  hurry 
up  and  get  the  whale-boat  ready  to  go  immediately 
— at  once,  at  once — after  Captain  Lingard.     Ali  re- 


AN   OUTCAST   OF   THE   ISLANDS. 


291 


monstrated,  agitated  also,  having  caught  the  infection 
of  distracted  haste. 

''  If  must  go  quick,  better  canoe.  Whale-boat  no 
can  catch,  same  as  small  canoe." 

"  No!  no!  Whale-boat!  whale-boat!  You  dolt! 
you  wretch!"  howled  Almayer,  with  all  the  appear- 
ance of  having  gone  mad.  *' Call  the  men!  Go! 
Fly!" 

And  AH  rushed  about  the  courtyard  kicking  the 
doors  of  huts  open  to  put  his  head  in  and  yell  fright- 
fully inside;  and  as  he  dashed  from  hovel  to  hovel, 
men  shivering  and  sleepy  were  coming  out,  looking 
after  him  stupidly,  while  they  scratched  their  ribs  with 
bewildered  apathy.  It  was  hard  work  to  put  them  in 
motion.  They  wanted  time  to  stretch  themselves  and 
to  shiver  a  little.  Some  wanted  food.  One  said  he 
was  sick.  Nobody  knew  where  the  rudder  was.  AH 
darted  here  and  there,  ordering,  abusing,  pushing  one, 
then  another,  and  stopping  in  his  exertions  at  times 
to  wring  his  hands  hastily  and  groan,  because  the 
whale-boat  was  much  slower  than  the  worst  canoe  and 
his  master  would  not  Hsten  to  his  protestations. 

Almayer  saw  the  boat  go  ofT  at  last,  pulled  anyhow 
by  men  that  were  cold,  hungry,  and  sulky;  and  he 
remained  on  the  jetty  watching  it  down  the  reach. 
It  was  broad  day  then,  and  the  sky  was  perfectly  cloud- 
less. Almayer  went  up  to  the  house  for  a  moment. 
His  household  was  all  astir  and  wondering  at  the 
strange  disappearance  of  the  Sirani  woman,  who  had 
taken  her  child  and  had  left  her  luggage.  Almayer 
spoke  to  no  one,  got  his  revolver,  and  went  down  to 
the  river  again.  He  jumped  into  a  small  canoe  and 
paddled  himself  towards  the  schooner.  He  worked 
very  leisurely,  but  as  soon  as  he  was  nearly  alongside 
he  began  to  hail  the  silent  craft  with  the  tone  and  ap- 
pearance of  a  man  in  a  tremendous  hurry. 

"  Schooner  ahoy!    schooner  ahoy!  "  he  shouted. 


2Q2  AN   OUTCAST  OF   THE    ISLANDS. 

A  row  of  blank  faces  popped  up  above  the  bulwark. 
After  a  while  a  man  with  a  woolly  head  of  hair  said — 

"Sir!" 

"The  mate!  the  mate!  Call  him,  steward!"  said 
Almayer,  excitedly,  making  a  frantic  grab  at  a  rope 
thrown  down  to  him  by  somebody. 

In  less  than  a  minute  the  mate  put  his  head  over. 
He  asked,  surprised — 

"  What  can  I  do  for  you,  Mr.  Almayer?  " 

"  Let  me  have  the  gig  at  once,  Mr.  Swan — at  once. 
I  ask  in  Captain  Lingard's  name.  I  must  have  it. 
Matter  of  life  and  death." 

The  mate  was  impressed  by  Almayer's  agitation. 

"You  shall  have  it,  sir.  .  .  .  Man  the  gig  there! 
Bear  a  hand,  serang!  .  .  .  It's  hanging  astern,  Mr. 
Almayer,"  he  said,  looking  down  again.  "  Get  into 
it,  sir.    The  men  are  coming  down  by  the  painter." 

By  the  time  Almayer  had  clambered  over  into  the 
stern  sheets,  four  calashes  were  in  the  boat  and  the 
oars  were  being  passed  over  the  tafifrail.  The  mate 
was  looking  on.    Suddenly  he  said — 

"  Is  it  dangerous  work?  Do  you  want  any  help? 
I  would  come  .  .  ." 

"  Yes,  yes!  "  cried  Almayer.  "  Come  along.  Don't 
lose  a  moment.  Go  and  get  your  revolver.  Hurry 
up !  hurry  up !  " 

Yet,  notwithstanding  his  feverish  anxiety  to  be  ofif, 
he  lolled  back  very  quiet  and  unconcerned  till  the  mate 
got  in  and,  passing  over  the  thwarts,  sat  down  by  his 
side.    Then  he  seemed  to  wake  up,  and  called  out — 

"  Let  go — let  go  the  painter!  " 

"  Let  go  the  painter — the  painter!  "  yelled  the 
bowman,  jerking  at  it. 

People  on  board  also  shouted  "  Let  go!  "  to  one 
another,  till  it  occurred  at  last  to  somebody  to  cast  oflF 
the  rope;  and  the  boat  drifted  rapidly  away  from  the 
schooner  in  the  sudden  silencing  of  all  voices. 


AN   OUTCAST   OF   THE   ISLANDS. 


293 


Almayer  steered.  The  mate  sat  by  his  side,  push- 
ing the  cartridges  into  the  chambers  of  his  revolver. 
When  the  weapon  was  loaded  he  asked — 

"  What  is  it?    Are  you  after  somebody?" 

"  Yes,"  said  Almayer,  curtly,  with  his  eyes  fixed 
ahead  on  the  river.  "  We  must  catch  a  dangerous 
man." 

'*  I  like  a  bit  of  a  chase  myself,"  declared  the  mate, 
and  then,  discouraged  by  Almayer's  aspect  of  severe 
thoughtfulness,  said  nothing  more. 

Nearly  an  hour  passed.  The  calashes  stretched 
forward  head  first  and  lay  back  with  their  faces  to  the 
sky,  alternatively,  in  a  regular  swing  that  sent  the 
boat  flying  through  the  water;  and  the  two  sitters, 
very  upright  in  the  stern  sheets,  swayed  rhythmically 
a  little  at  every  stroke  of  the  long  oars  plied  vigor- 
ously. 

The  mate  observed:  "The  tide  is  with  us." 

"  The  current  always  runs  down  in  this  river,"  said 
Almayer. 

"Yes — I  know,"  retorted  the  other;  "but  it  runs 
faster  on  the  ebb.  Look  by  the  land  at  the  way  we 
go  over  the  ground !  A  five-knot  current  here,  I  should 
say." 

"H'm!"  growled  Almayer.  Then  suddenly: 
"  There  is  a  passage  between  two  islands  that  will  save 
us  four  miles.  But  at  low  water  the  two  islands,  in 
the  dry  season,  are  like  one  with  only  a  mud  ditch  be- 
tween them.    Still,  it's  worth  trying." 

"  Ticklish  job  that  on  a  faUing  tide,"  said  the  mate, 
coolly.  "  You  know  best  whether  there's  time  to  get 
through." 

"  I  will  try,"  said  Almayer,  watching  the  shore  in- 
tently.   "  Look  out  now!  " 

He  tugged  hard  at  the  starboard  yoke-line. 

"  Lay  in  your  oars!  "  shouted  the  mate. 

The  boat  swept  round  and  shot  through  the  narrow 


294  AN   OUTCAST  OF  THE  ISLANDS. 

opening  of  a  creek  that  broadened  out  before  the  craft 
had  time  to  lose  its  way. 

''  Out  oars!  .  .  .  Just  room  enough,"  muttered  the 
mate. 

It  was  a  sombre  creek  of  black  water  speckled 
with  gold,  with  the  gold  of  scattered  sunlight  falling 
through  the  boughs  that  met  overhead  in  a  soaring, 
restless  arch  full  of  gentle  whispers  passing,  tremulous, 
aloft  amongst  the  thick  leaves.  The  creepers  climbed 
up  the  trunks  of  serried  trees  that  leaned  over,  looking 
insecure  and  undermined  by  floods  which  had  eaten 
away  the  earth  from  under  their  roots.  And  the 
pungent,  acrid  smell  of  rotting  leaves,  of  flowers,  of 
blossoms  and  plants  dying  in  that  poisonous  and  cruel 
gloom,  where  they  pined  for  sunshine  in  vain,  seemed 
to  lay  heavy,  to  press  upon  the  shiny  and  stagnant 
water  in  its  tortuous  windings  amongst  the  everlasting 
and  invincible  shadows. 

Almayer  looked  anxious.  He  steered  badly.  Sev- 
eral times  the  blades  of  the  oars  got  foul  of  the  bushes 
on  one  side  or  the  other,  checking  the  way  of  the  gig. 
During  one  of  those  occurrences,  while  they  were  get- 
ting clear,  one  of  the  calashes  said  something  to  the 
others  in  a  rapid  whisper.  They  looked  down  at  the 
water.    So  did  the  mate. 

"Hallo!"  he  exclaimed.  ''Eh,  Mr.  Almayer! 
Look!  The  water  is  running  out.  See  there!  We 
will  be  caught." 

"Back!  back!  We  must  go  back!"  cried  Al- 
mayer. 

"  Perhaps  better  go  on." 

"No;  back!  back!" 

He  pulled  at  the  steering  line,  and  ran  the  nose  of 
the  boat  into  the  bank.  Time  was  lost  again  in  get- 
ting clear. 

"Give  way,  men!  give  way!"  urged  the  mate, 
anxiously. 


AN  OUTCAST   OF   THE   ISLANDS.  295 

The  men  pulled  with  set  lips  and  dilated  nostrils, 
breathing  hard. 

"  Too  late,"  said  the  mate,  suddenly.  ''  The  oars 
touch  the  bottom  already.    We  are  done." 

The  boat  stuck.  The  men  laid  in  the  oars,  and 
sat,  panting,  with  crossed  arms. 

"  Yes,  we  are  caught,"  said  Almayer,  composedly. 
"  That  is  unlucky!  " 

The  water  was  falling  round  the  boat.  The  mate 
watched  the  patches  of  mud  coming  to  the  surface. 
Then  in  a  moment  he  laughed,  and  pointing  his  finger 
at  the  creek — 

"Look!"  he  said;  ''the  blamed  river  is  running 
away  from  us.  Here's  the  last  drop  of  water  clearing 
out  round  that  bend." 

Almayer  lifted  his  head.  The  water  was  gone,  and 
he  looked  only  at  a  curved  track  of  mud — of  mud  soft 
and  black,  hiding  fever,  rottenness,  and  evil  under  its 
level  and  glazed  surface. 

*'  We  are  in  for  it  till  the  evening,"  he  said,  with 
cheerful  resignation.  ''  I  did  my  best.  Couldn't 
help  it." 

''  We  must  sleep  the  day  away,"  said  the  mate. 
"  There's  nothing  to  eat,"  he  added,  gloomily. 

Almayer  stretched  himself  in  the  stern  sheets.  The 
^Malays  curled  down  between  thwarts. 

"  Well,  I'm  jiggered!  "  said  the  mate,  starting  up 
after  a  long  pause.  "  I  was  in  a  devil  of  a  hurry  to 
go  and  pass  the  day  stuck  in  the  mud.  Here's  a  holi- 
day for  you!    Well!  well!" 

They  slept  or  sat  unmoving  and  patient.  As  the 
sun  mounted  higher  the  breeze  died  out,  and  perfect 
stillness  reigned  in  the  empty  creek.  A  troop  of  long- 
nosed  monkeys  appeared,  and,  crowding  on  the  outer 
boughs,  contemplating  the  boat  and  the  motionless 
men  in  it  with  grave  and  sorrowful  intensity,  disturbed 
now  and  then  by  irrational  outbreaks  of  mad  gesticula- 


296  AN   OUTCAST   OF   THE   ISLANDS. 

tion.  A  little  bird  with  sapphire  breast  balanced  a 
slender  twig  across  a  slanting  beam  of  light,  and 
flashed  in  it  to  and  fro  like  a  gem  dropped  from  the 
sky.  His  minute  round  eye  stared  at  the  strange  and 
tranquil  creatures  in  the  boat.  After  a  while  he  sent 
out  a  thin  twitter  that  sounded  impertinent  and  funny 
in  the  solemn  silence  of  the  great  wilderness,  in  the 
great  silence  full  of  struggle  and  death. 


III. 

On  Lingard's  departure  solitude  and  silence  closed 
round  Willems;  the  cruel  solitude  of  one  abandoned 
by  men;  the  reproachful  silence  which  surrounds  an 
outcast  rejected  by  his  kind,  the  silence  unbroken  by 
the  slightest  whisper  of  hope;  an  immense  and  im- 
penetrable silence  that  swallows  up  without  echo  the 
murmur  of  regret  and  the  cry  of  revolt.  The  bitter 
peace  of  the  abandoned  clearings  entered  his  heart,  in 
which  nothing  could  live  now  but  the  memory  and 
hate  of  his  past.  Not  remorse.  In  the  breast  of  a 
man  possessed  by  the  masterful  consciousness  of  his 
individuality  with  its  desires  and  its  rights;  by  the 
immovable  conviction  of  his  own  importance,  of  an 
importance  so  indisputable  and  final  that  it  clothes  all 
his  wishes,  endeavours,  and  mistakes  with  the  dignity 
of  unavoidable  fate,  there  could  be  no  place  for  such  a 
feeling  as  that  of  remorse. 

The  days  passed.  They  passed  unnoticed,  unseen, 
in  the  rapid  blaze  of  glaring  sunrises,  in  the  short 
glow  of  tender  sunsets,  in  the  crushing  oppression 
of  high  noons  without  a  cloud.  How  many  days? 
Two — three — or  more?  He  did  not  know.  To  him, 
since  Lingard  had  gone,  the  time  seemed  to  roll  on 


AN   OUTCAST   OF   THE   ISLANDS. 


297 


in  profound  darkness.  All  was  night  within  him.  All 
was  gone  from  his  sight.  He  walked  about  blindly 
in  the  deserted  courtyards,  amongst  the  empty  houses 
that  perched  high  on  their  posts,  looked  down  inimi- 
cally  on  him,  a  white  stranger,  a  man  from  other  lands ; 
seemed  to  look  hostile  and  mute  out  of  all  the  memo- 
ries of  native  life  that  lingered  between  their  decaying 
walls.  His  wandering  feet  stumbled  against  the  black- 
ened brands  of  extinct  fires,  kicking  up  a  light  black 
dust  of  cold  ashes  that  flew  in  drifting  cloud  and  set- 
tled to  leeward  on  the  fresh  grass  sprouting  from  the 
hard  ground,  between  the  shade  trees.  He  moved  on, 
and  on;  ceaseless,  unresting  in  widening  circles,  in  zig- 
zaging  paths  that  led  to  no  issue;  and  the  marks  of 
his  footsteps,  pressed  deep  into  the  soft  mud  of  the 
bank,  were  filled  slowly  behind  him  by  the  percolating 
water  of  the  rising  river,  caught  the  light  and  shone 
in  a  chain  of  small  reflected  suns  along  the  broad  ex- 
panse of  black  slime,  of  the  dull  and  quivering  mire 
where  he  struggled  on,  objectless,  unappeased:  strug- 
gled on  wearily  with  a  set,  distressed  face  behind 
which,  in  his  tired  brain,  seethed  his  thoughts:  rest- 
less, sombre,  tangled,  chilling,  horrible  and  venomous, 
like  a  nestful  of  snakes. 

From  afar,  the  bleared  eyes  of  the  old  serving 
woman,  the  sombre  gaze  of  Aissa  followed  the  gaunt 
and  tottering  figure  in  its  unceasing  prowl  along  the 
fences,  between  the  houses,  amongst  the  wild  luxuri- 
ance of  riverside  thickets.  Those  three  human  beings 
abandoned  by  all  were  like  shipwrecked  people  left 
on  an  insecure  and  slippery  ledge  by  the  retiring  tide 
of  an  angry  sea — listening  to  its  distant  roar,  living 
anguished  between  the  menace  of  its  return  and  the 
hopeless  horror  of  their  solitude — in  the  midst  of  a 
tempest  of  passion,  of  regret,  of  disgust,  of  despair. 
The  breath  of  the  storm  had  cast  two  of  them  there, 
robbed  of  everythin§^ — even  of  resignation.    The  third. 


298  AN   OUTCAST   OF   THE   ISLANDS. 

the  decrepit  witness  of  their  struggle  and  their  tor- 
ture, accepted  her  own  dull  conception  of  facts;  of 
strength  and  youth  gone;  of  her  useless  old  age;  of 
her  last  servitude;  of  being  thrown  away  by  her  chief, 
by  her  nearest,  to  use  up  the  last  and  worthless  rem- 
nant of  flickering  life  between  those  two  incompre- 
hensible and  sombre  outcasts:  a  shrivelled,  an  un- 
moved, a  passive  companion  of  their  disaster. 

To  the  river  Willems  turned  his  eyes  like  a  captive 
that  looks  fixedly  at  the  door  of  his  cell.  If  there  was 
any  hope  in  the  world  it  would  come  from  the  river,  by 
the  river.  For  hours  together  he  would  stand  in  sun- 
light while  the  sea  breeze  sweeping  over  the  lonely 
reach  fluttered  his  ragged  garments;  the  keen  salt 
breeze  that  made  him  shiver  now  and  then  under  the 
flood  of  intense  heat.  He  looked  at  the  brown  and 
sparkling  solitude  of  the  flowing  water,  of  the  water 
flowing  ceaseless  and  free  in  a  soft,  cool  murmur  of 
ripples  at  his  feet;  and  he  tried  to  find  a  promise  of 
release  in  the  vivid  glitter  of  innumerable  suns  re- 
flected by  the  running  wavelets  of  the  stream.  The 
world  seemed  to  end  there.  The  forests  of  the  other 
bank  appeared  unattainable,  enigmatical,  for  ever  be- 
yond reach,  like  the  stars  of  heaven — and  as  indiffer- 
ent. Above  and  below,  the  forests  on  his  side  of  the 
river  came  down  to  the  water  in  a  serried  multitude  of 
tall,  immense  trees  towering  in  a  great  spread  of 
twisted  boughs  above  the  thick  undergrowth;  great, 
solid  trees,  looking  sombre,  severe,  and  malevolently 
stolid,  like  a  giant  crowd  of  pitiless  enemies  pressing 
round  silently  to  witness  his  slow  agony.  He  was 
alone,  small,  crushed.  He  thought  of  escape — of 
something  to  be  done.  What?  A  raft!  He  imagined 
himself  working  at  it,  feverishly,  desperately;  cutting 
down  trees,  fastening  the  logs  together  and  then  drift- 
ing down  with  the  current,  down  to  the  sea  into  the 
straits.     There  were  ships  there — ships^  help,  white 


AN   OUTCAST   OF   THE    ISLANDS.  299 

men.  Men  like  himself.  Good  men  who  would  res- 
cue him,  take  him  away,  take  him  far  away  where 
there  was  trade,  and  houses,  and  other  men  that  could 
understand  him  exactly,  appreciate  his  capabilities; 
where  there  was  proper  food,  and  money ;  where  there 
were  beds,  knives,  forks,  carriages,  brass  bands,  cool 
drinks,  churches  with  well-dressed  people  praying  in 
them.  He  would  pray  also.  The  superior  land  ol 
refined  delights  where  he  could  sit  on  z  chair,  eat  his 
tiffin  off  a  white  tablecloth,  nod  to  fellows — good  fel- 
lows;  he  would  be  popular;  always  was — where  he 
could  be  virtuous,  correct,  do  business,  draw  a  salary, 
smoke  cigars,  buy  things  in  shops — have  boots  .  .  . 
be  happy,  free,  become  rich.  O  God!  What  was 
wanted?  Cut  down  a  few  trees.  No!  One  would  do. 
They  used  to  make  canoes  by  burning  out  a  tree  trunk, 
he  had  heard.  Yes!  One  would  do.  One  tree  to  cut 
down  .  .  .  He  rushed  forward,  and  suddenly  stood 
still  as  if  rooted  in  the  ground — he  had  a  pocket- 
knife. 

And  he  would  throw  himself  down  on  the  ground 
by  the  riverside.  He  was  tired,  exhausted;  as  if  that 
raft  had  been  made,  the  voyage  accomplished,  the 
fortune  attained.  A  glaze  came  over  his  staring  eyes, 
over  his  eyes  that  gazed  hopelessly  at  the  rising  river 
where  big  logs  and  uprooted  trees  drifted  in  the  shine 
of  mid-stream :  a  long  procession  of  black  and  ragged 
specks.  He  could  swim  out  and  drift  away  on  one  of 
these  trees.  Anything  to  escape!  Anything!  Any 
risk!  He  could  fasten  himself  up  between  the  dead 
branches.  He  was  torn  by  desire,  by  fear;  his  heart 
was  wrung  by  the  faltering  of  his  courage.  He  turned 
over,  face  downwards,  his  head  on  his  arms.  He  had 
a  terrible  vision  of  shadowless  horizons  where  the  blue 
sky  and  the  blue  sea  met;  of  a  circular  and  blazing 
emptiness  where  a  dead  tree  and  a  dead  man  drifted 
together,  endlessly,  up  and  down,  upon  the  brilliant 


300 


AN   OUTCAST   OF   THE   ISLANDS. 


undulations  of  the  straits.  No  ships  there.  Only 
death.    And  the  river  led  to  it. 

He  sat  up  with  a  profound  groan. 

Yes,  death.  Why  should  he  die?  No!  Better 
solitude,  better  hopeless  waiting,  alone.  Alone.  No! 
he  was  not  alone,  he  saw  death  looking  at  him  from 
everywhere;  from  the  bushes,  from  the  clouds — he 
heard  her  speaking  to  him  in  the  murmur  of  the  river, 
filling  the  space,  touching  his  heart,  his  brain  with  a 
cold  hand.  He  could  see  and  think  of  nothing  else. 
He  saw  it — the  sure  death — everywhere.  He  saw  it 
so  close  that  he  was  always  on  the  point  of  throwing 
out  his  arms  to  keep  it  off.  It  poisoned  all  he  saw,  all 
he  did;  the  miserable  food  he  ate,  the  muddy  water 
he  drank;  it  gave  a  frightful  aspect  to  sunrises  and 
sunsets,  to  the  brightness  of  hot  noon,  to  the  cooling 
shadows  of  the  evenings.  He  saw  the  horrible  form 
among  the  big  trees,  in  the  network  of  creepers  in 
the  fantastic  outlines  of  leaves,  of  the  great  indented 
leaves  that  seemed  to  be  so  many  enormous  hands 
with  big  broad  palms,  with  stiff  fingers  outspread  to 
lay  hold  of  him;  hands  gently  stirring  on  hands  ar- 
rested in  a  frightful  immobility,  with  a  stillness  atten- 
tive and  watching  for  the  opportunity  to  take  him, 
to  enlace  him,  to  strangle  him,  to  hold  him  till  he 
died;  hands  that  would  hold  him  dead,  that  would 
never  let  go,  that  would  cling  to  his  body  for  ever  till 
it  perished — disappeared  in  their  frantic  and  tenacious 
grasp. 

And  yet  the  world  was  full  of  life.  All  the  things, 
all  the  men  he  knew,  existed,  moved,  breathed;  and 
he  saw  them  in  a  long  perspective,  far  off,  diminished, 
distinct,  desirable,  unattainable,  precious  .  .  .  lost  for 
ever.  Round  him,  ceaselessly,  there  went  on  without 
a  sound  the  mad  turmoil  of  tropical  life.  After  he 
had  died  all  this  would  remain!  He  wanted  to  clasp, 
to  embrace  solid  things;  he  had  an  immense  craving 


AN  OUTCAST   OF   THE   ISLANDS.  301 

for  sensations;  for  touching,  pressing,  seeing,  hand- 
ling, holding  on,  to  all  these  things.  All  this  would 
remain — remain  for  years,  for  ages,  for  ever.  After 
he  had  miserably  died  there,  all  this  would  remain, 
would  live,  would  exist  in  joyous  sunlight,  would 
breathe  in  the  coolness  of  serene  nights.  What  for, 
then?  He  would  be  dead.  He  would  be  stretched 
upon  the  warm  moisture  of  the  ground,  feeling  noth- 
ing, seeing  nothing,  knowing  nothing;  he  would  lie 
stiff,  passive;  while  over  him,  under  him,  through 
him — unopposed,  busy,  hurried — the  endless  and  mi- 
nute throngs  of  insects,  little  shining  monsters  of  re- 
pulsive shapes,  with  horns,  with  claws,  with  pincers, 
would  swarm  in  streams,  in  rushes,  in  eager  struggle 
for  his  body ;  would  swarm  countless,  persistent,  fero- 
cious and  greedy — till  there  would  remain  nothing  but 
the  white  gleam  of  bleaching  bones  in  the  long  grass; 
in  the  long  grass  that  would  shoot  its  feathery  heads 
between  the  bare  and  polished  ribs.  There  would  be 
that  only  left  of  him;  nobody  would  miss  him;  no 
one  would  remember  him. 

Nonsense!  It  could  not  be.  There  were  ways 
out  of  this.  Somebody  would  turn  up.  Some  human 
beings  would  come.  He  would  speak,  entreat — use 
force  to  extort  help  from  them.  He  felt  strong;  he 
was  very  strong.  He  would  .  .  .  The  discourage- 
ment, the  conviction  of  the  futility  of  his  hopes  would 
return  in  an  acute  sensation  of  pain  in  his  heart.  He 
w^ould  begin  again  his  aimless  wanderings.  He 
tramped  till  he  was  reaj^y  to  drop,  without  being  able 
to  calm  by  bodily  fatigue  the  trouble  of  his  soul. 
There  was  no  rest,  no  peace  within  the  cleared  grounds 
of  his  prison.  There  was  no  relief  but  in  the  black 
release  of  sleep,  of  sleep  without  memory  and  without 
dreams;  in  the  sleep  coming  brutal  and  heavy,  like 
the  lead  that  kills.  To  forget  in  annihilating  sleep; 
to  tumble  headlong,  as  if  stunned,  out  of  daylight  into 


302 


AN   OUTCAST   OF   THE   ISLANDS. 


the  night  of  oblivion,  was  for  him  the  only,  the  rare 
respite  from  this  existence  which  he  lacked  the  cour- 
age to  endure — or  to  end. 

He  lived,  he  struggled  with  the  inarticulate  deliri- 
um of  his  thoughts  under  the  eyes  of  the  silent  Aissa. 
She  shared  his  torment  in  the  poignant  wonder,  in  the 
acute  longing,  in  the  despairing  inability  to  under- 
stand the  cause  of  his  anger  and  of  his  repulsion;  the 
hate  of  his  looks;  the  mystery  of  his  silence;  the  men- 
ace of  his  rare  words — of  those  words  in  the  speech 
of  white  people  that  were  thrown  at  her  with  rage, 
with  contempt,  with  the  evident  desire  to  hurt  her; 
to  hurt  her  who  had  given  herself,  her  life — all  she 
had  to  give — to  that  white  man ;  to  hurt  her  who  had 
wanted  to  show  him  the  way  to  true  greatness,  who 
had  tried  to  help  him,  in  her  woman's  dream  of  ever- 
lasting, enduring,  unchangeable  affection.  From  the 
short  contact  with  the  whites  in  the  crashing  collapse 
of  her  old  life,  there  remained  with  her  the  imposing 
idea  of  irresistible  power  and  of  ruthless  strength.  She 
had  found  a  man  of  their  race — and  with  all  their  quali- 
ties. All  whites  are  alike.  But  this  man's  heart  was 
full  of  anger  against  his  own  people,  full  of  anger  ex- 
isting there  by  the  side  of  his  desire  of  her.  And  to 
her  it  had  been  an  intoxication  of  hope  for  great  things 
born  in  the  proud  and  tender  consciousness  of  her 
influence.  She  had  heard  the  passing  whisper  of  won- 
der and  fear  in  the  presence  of  his  hesitation  of  his 
resistance,  of  his  compromises;  and  yet  with  a  wom- 
an's belief  in  the  durable  steadfastness  of  hearts,  in  the 
irresistible  charm  of  her  own  personality,  she  had 
pushed  him  forward,  trusting  the  future,  blindly,  hope- 
fully; sure  to  attain  by  his  side  her  glorious  ideal  of 
life,  if  she  could  only  push  him  far  beyond  the  pos- 
sibility of  retreat.  She  did  not  know,  and  could  not 
conceive,  anything  of  his — so  exalted — ideals.  She 
thought  the  man  a  warrior  and  a  chief,  ready  for  battle, 


AN  OUTCAST  OF   THE  ISLANDS.  303 

violence,  and  treachery  to  his  own  people — for  her. 
What  more  natural?  Was  he  not  a  great,  strong  man? 
Those  two,  surrounded  each  by  the  impenetrable  wall 
of  their  aspirations,  were  hopelessly  alone,  out  of  sight, 
out  of  earshot  of  each  other;  each  the  centre  of  dis- 
similar and  distant  horizons;  standing  each  on  a  dif- 
ferent earth,  under  a  diflferent  sky.  She  remembered 
his  words,  his  eyes,  his  trembling  lips,  his  outstretched 
hands;  she  remembered  the  great,  the  immeasurable 
sweetness  of  her  surrender,  that  beginning  of  her 
power  which  was  to  last  until  death.  He  remembered 
the  quaysides  and  the  warehouses;  the  excitement  of 
a  life  in  a  whirl  of  silver  coins;  the  glorious  vmcer- 
tainty  of  a  money  hunt;  his  numerous  successes,  the 
lost  possibiHties  of  wealth  and  consequent  glory.  She, 
a  woman,  was  the  victim  of  her  heart,  of  her  woman's 
belief  that  there  is  nothing  in  the  world  but  love — the 
everlasting  thing.  He  was  the  victim  of  his  strange 
principles,  of  his  continence,  of  his  blind  belief  in  him- 
self, of  his  solemn  veneration  for  the  voice  of  his 
boundless  ignorance. 

In  a  moment  of  his  idleness,  of  suspense,  of  dis- 
couragement, she  had  come — that  creature — and  by 
the  touch  of  her  hand  had  destroyed  his  future,  his 
dignity  of  a  clever  and  civilised  man;  had  awakened 
in  his  breast  the  infamous  thing  which  had  driven  him 
to  what  he  had  done,  and  to  end  miserably  in  the 
wilderness  and  be  forgotten,  or  else  remembered  with 
hate  or  contempt.  He  dared  not  look  at  her,  because 
now  whenever  he  looked  at  her  his  thought  seemed  to 
touch  crime,  like  an  outstretched  hand.  She  could 
only  look  at  him — and  at  nothing  else.  W^hat  else 
was  there?  She  followed  him  with  a  timorous  gaze, 
with  a  gaze  for  ever  expecting,  patient  and  entreating. 
And  in  her  eyes  there  was  the  wonder  and  desolation 
of  an  animal  that  knows  only  suffering,  of  the  incom- 
plete soul  that  knows  pain  but  knows  not  hope;  that 


304  AN  OUTCAST  OF   THE   ISLANDS. 

can  find  no  refuge  from  the  facts  of  life  in  the  illusory 
conviction  of  its  dignity,  of  an  exalted  destiny  beyond ; 
in  the  heavenly  consolation  of  a  belief  in  the  moment- 
ous origin  of  its  hate. 

For  the  first  three  days  after  Lingard  went  away 
he  would  not  even  speak  to  her.  She  preferred  his 
silence  to  the  sound  of  hatred  and  incomprehensible 
words  he  had  been  lately  addressing  to  her  with  a 
wild  violence  of  manner,  passing  at  once  into  complete 
apathy.  And  during  these  three  days  he  hardly  ever 
left  the  river,  as  if  on  that  muddy  bank  he  had  felt  him- 
self nearer  to  his  freedom.  He  would  stay  late;  he 
would  stay  till  sunset;  he  would  look  at  the  glow  of 
gold  passing  away  amongst  sombre  clouds  in  a  bright 
red  flush,  like  a  splash  of  warm  blood.  It  seemed  to 
him  ominous  and  ghastly  with  a  foreboding  of  violent 
death  that  beckoned  him  from  everywhere — even  from 
the  sky. 

One  evening  he  remained  by  the  riverside  long 
after  sunset,  regardless  of  the  night  mist  that  had 
closed  round  him,  had  wrapped  him  up  and  clung  to 
him  like  a  wet  winding-sheet.  A  slight  shiver  recalled 
him  to  his  senses,  and  he  walked  up  the  courtyard 
towards  his  house.  Aissa  rose  from  before  the  fire, 
that  glimmered  red  through  its  own  smoke,  which 
hung  thickening  under  the  boughs  of  the  big  tree. 
She  approached  him  from  the  side  as  he  neared  the 
plankway  of  the  house.  He  saw  her  stop  to  let  him 
begin  his  ascent.  In  the  darkness  her  figure  was  like 
the  shadow  of  a  woman  with  clasped  hands  put  out 
beseechingly.  He  stopped— could  not  help  glancing 
at  her.  In  all  the  sombre  gracefulness  of  the  straight 
figure,  her  limbs,  features — all  was  indistinct  and 
vague  but  the  gleam  of  her  eyes  in  the  faint  starlight. 
He  turned  his  head  away  and  moved  on.  He  could 
feel  her  footsteps  behind  him  on  the  bending  planks, 
but  he  walked  up  without  turning  his  head.    He  knew 


AN   OUTCAST   OF   THE   ISLANDS.  305 

what  she  wanted.  She  wanted  to  come  in  there.  He 
shuddered  at  the  thought  of  what  might  happen  in 
the  impenetrable  darkness  of  that  house  if  they  were 
to  find  themselves  alone — even  for  a  moment.  He 
stopped  in  the  doorway,  and  heard  her  say — 

"  Let  me  come  in.  Why  this  anger?  Why  this 
silence?  .  .  .  Let  me  watch  ...  by  your  side.  .  .  . 
Have  I  not  watched  faithfully?  Did  harm  ever  come 
to  you  when  you  closed  your  eyes  while  I  was  by? 
...  I  have  waited  ...  I  have  waited  for  your  smile, 
for  your  words.  ...  I  can  wait  no  more.  .  .  .  Look 
at  me  .  .  .  speak  to  me.  Is  there  a  bad  spirit  in  you? 
A  bad  spirit  that  has  eaten  up  your  courage  and  your 
love?  Let  me  touch  you.  Forget  all  .  .  .  All.  For- 
get the  wicked  hearts,  the  angry  faces  .  .  .  and  re- 
member only  the  day  I  came  to  you  ...  to  you !  O ! 
my  heart!     O!  my  life!" 

The  pleading  sadness  of  her  appeal  filled  the  space 
with  the  tremor  of  her  low  tones,  that  seemed  to  carry 
tenderness  and  tears  into  the  great  peace  of  the  sleep- 
ing world.  All  around  them  the  forests,  the  clearings, 
the  river,  covered  by  the  silent  veil  of  night,  seemed 
to  wake  up  and  listen  to  her  words  in  attentive  still- 
ness. After  the  sound  of  her  voice  had  died  out  in  a 
stifled  sigh  they  appeared  to  listen  yet;  and  nothing 
stirred  among  the  shapeless  shadows  but  the  mnumer- 
able  fireflies  that  twinkled  in  changing  clusters,  in 
gliding  pairs,  in  wandering  and  solitary  points — like 
the  glimmering  drift  of  scattered  star-dust. 

Willems  turned  round  slowly,  reluctantly,  as  if 
compelled  by  main  force.  Her  face  was  hidden  in  her 
hands,  and  he  looked  above  her  bent  head,  into  the 
sombre  brilliance  of  the  night.  It  was  one  of  those 
nights  that  give  the  impression  of  extreme  vastness, 
when  the  sky  seems  higher,  when  the  passing  puflfs  of 
tepid  breeze  seem  to  bring  with  them  faint  whispers 
from  beyond  the  stars.      The  air  was  full  of  sweet 


3o6 


AN   OUTCAST   OF  THE   ISLANDS. 


scent,  of  the  scent  charming,  penetrating  and  violent 
like  the  impulse  of  love.  He  looked  into  that  great 
dark  place  odorous  with  the  breath  of  Hfe,  with  the 
mystery  of  existence,  renewed,  fecund,  indestructible; 
and  he  felt  afraid  of  his  solitude,  of  the  solitude  of  his 
body,  of  the  loneliness  of  his  soul  in  the  presence  of 
this  unconscious  and  ardent  strife;  of  this  lofty  in- 
difference; of  this  merciless  and  mysterious  purpose, 
perpetuating  strife  and  death  through  the  march  of 
ages.  For  the  second  time  in  his  life  he  felt,  in  a  sud- 
den sense  of  his  insignificance,  the  need  to  send  a  cry 
for  help  into  the  wilderness,  and  for  the  second  time 
he  realised  the  hopelessness  of  its  unconcern.  He 
could  shout  for  help  on  every  side — and  nobody  would 
answer.  He  could  stretch  out  his  hands,  he  could  call 
for  aid,  for  support,  for  sympathy,  for  relief — and  no- 
body would  come.  Nobody.  There  was  no  one  there 
— but  that  woman. 

His  heart  was  moved,  softened  with  pity  at  his  own 
abandonment.  His  anger  against  her,  against  her 
who  was  the  cause  of  all  his  misfortunes,  vanished 
before  his  extreme  need  for  some  kind  of  consolation. 
Perhaps — if  he  must  resign  himself  to  his  fate — she 
might  help  him  to  forget;  to  forget!  For  a  moment, 
in  an  access  of  despair  so  profound  that  it  seemed  like 
the  beginning  of  peace,  he  planned  the  deliberate  de- 
scent from  his  pedestal,  the  throwing  away  of  his 
superiority,  of  all  his  hopes,  of  old  ambitions,  of  the 
ungrateful  civilisation.  For  a  moment,  forgetfulness 
seemed  possible;  and  lured  by  that  possibility  the  sem- 
blance of  renewed  desire  possessed  his  breast  in  a  burst 
of  reckless  contempt  for  everything  outside  himself 
— in  a  savage  disdain  of  Earth  and  of  Heaven.  He 
said  to  himself  that  he  would  not  repent.  The  pun- 
ishment for  his  only  sin  was  too  heavy.  There  was 
no  mercy  under  heaven.  He  did  not  want  anv.  He 
thought,  desperately,  that  if  he  could  find  with  her 


AN    OUTCAST   OF   THE    ISLANDS.  307 

again  the  madness  of  the  past,  the  strange  delirium 
that  had  changed  him,  that  had  worked  his  undoing, 
he  would  be  ready  to  pay  for  it  with  an  eternity  of 
perdition.  He  was  intoxicated  by  the  subtle  perfumes 
of  the  night;  he  was  carried  away  by  the  suggestive 
stir  of  the  warm  breeze;  he  was  possessed  by  the  ex- 
altation of  the  solitude,  of  the  silence,  of  his  memories, 
in  the  presence  of  that  figure  offering  herself  in  a  sub- 
missive and  patient  devotion;  coming  to  him  in  the 
name  of  the  past,  in  the  name  of  those  days  when  he 
cold  see  nothing,  think  of  nothing,  desire  nothing — 
but  that  pressure. 

He  took  her  suddenly  in  his  arms,  and  she  clasped 
her  hands  round  his  neck  with  a  low  cry  of  joy  and 
surprise.  He  took  her  in  his  arms  and  waited  for  the 
sensations  remembered  and  lost;  and  while  she  sobbed 
gently  on  his  breast  he  held  her  and  felt  cold,  sick, 
tired,  exasperated  with  his  failure — and  ended  by  curs- 
ing himself.  She  clung  to  him  trembling  with  the  in- 
tensity of  her  happiness  and  her  love.  He  heard  her 
whispering — her  face  hidden  on  his  shoulder — of  past 
sorrow,  of  coming  joy  that  would  last  for  ever;  of  her 
unshaken  belief  in  his  love.  She  had  always  believed. 
Always!  Even  while  his  face  was  turned  away  from 
her  in  the  dark  days  while  his  mind  was  wandering 
in  his  own  land,  amongst  his  own  people.  But  it  would 
never  wander  away  from  her  any  more  now  it  had 
come  back.  He  would  forget  the  cold  faces  and  the 
hard  hearts  of  the  cruel  people.  What  was  there  to 
remember?    Nothing?    Was  it  not  so?  .  .  . 

He  listened  hopelessly  to  the  faint  murmur.  He 
stood  still  and  rigid,  pressing  her  mechanically  to  his 
breast  while  he  thought  that  there  was  nothing  for 
him  in  the  world.  He  was  robbed  of  everything; 
robbed  of  his  passion,  of  his  liberty,  of  forgetfulness, 
of  consolation.  She,  wild  with  delight,  whispered  on 
rapidly,  of  love,  of  light,  of  peace,  of  long  years.  .  .  . 


308  AN   OUTCAST   OF   THE  ISLANDS. 

He  looked  drearily  above  her  head  down  into  the 
deeper  gloom  of  the  courtyard.  And,  all  at  once,  it 
seemed  to  him  that  he  was  peering  into  a  sombre 
hollow,  into  a  deep  black  hole  full  of  decay  and  of 
whitened  bones;  into  an  immense  and  inevitable  grave 
full  of  corruption  where  sooner  or  later  he  must,  un- 
avoidably, fall. 

In  the  morning  he  came  out  early,  and  stood  for  a 
time  in  the  doorway  listening  to  the  light  breathing 
behind  him — in  the  house.  She  slept.  He  had  not 
closed  his  eyes  through  all  that  night.  He  stood  sway- 
ing— then  leaned  against  the  lintel  of  the  door.  He 
was  exhausted,  done  up;  fancied  himself  hardly  alive. 
He  had  a  disgusted  horror  of  himself  that,  as  he  looked 
at  the  level  sea  of  mist  at  his  feet,  faded  quickly  into 
dull  indiflference.  It  was  like  a  sudden  and  final  de- 
crepitude of  his  senses,  of  his  body,  of  his  thoughts. 
Standing  on  the  high  platform,  he  looked  over  the 
expanse  of  low  night  fog  above  which,  here  and  there, 
stood  out  the  feathery  heads  of  tall  bamboo  clumps 
and  the  round  tops  of  single  trees,  resembling  small 
islets  emerging  black  and  solid  from  a  ghostly  and 
impalpable  sea.  Further  on,  upon  the  faintly  luminous 
background  of  the  eastern  sky,  the  sombre  line  of  the 
great  forests  bounded  that  smooth  sea  of  white  vapours 
with  an  appearance  of  a  fantastic  and  unattainable 
shore.  He  looked  without  seeing  anything — thinking 
of  himself.  Before  his  eyes  the  light  of  the  rising  sun 
burst  above  the  forest  with  the  suddenness  of  an  ex- 
plosion. He  saw  nothing.  Then,  after  a  time,  he 
murmured  with  conviction — speaking  half  aloud  to 
himself  in  the  shock  of  the  penetrating  thought: 

"  I  am  a  lost  man." 

He  shook  his  hand  above  his  head  in  a  gesture 
careless  and  tragic,  then  walked  down  into  the  mist 
that  closed  above  him  in  shining  undulations  under 
the  first  breath  of  the  morning  breeze. 


AN  OUTCAST  OF   THE   ISLANDS. 


IV. 


309 


Willems  moved  languidly  towards  the  river,  then 
retraced  his  steps  to  the  tree  and  let  himself  fall  on 
the  seat  under  its  shade.  On  the  other  side  of  the 
immense  trunk  he  could  hear  the  old  woman  moving 
about,  sighing  loudly,  muttering  to  herself,  snapping 
dry  sticks,  blowing  up  the  fire.  After  a  while  a  whifif 
of  smoke  drifted  round  to  where  he  sat.  It  made  him 
feel  hungry,  and  that  feeling  was  like  a  new  indignity 
added  to  an  intolerable  load  of  humiliations.  He  felt 
inclined  to  cry.  He  felt  very  weak.  He  held  up  his 
arm  before  his  eyes  and  watched  for  a  little  while  the 
trembling  of  the  lean  limb.  Skin  and  bone,  by  God! 
How  thin  he  was!  .  .  .  He  had  suffered  from  fever 
a  good  deal,  and  now  he  thought  with  tearful  dismay 
that  Lingard,  although  he  had  sent  him  food — and 
what  food,  great  Lord:  a  little  rice  and  dried  fish; 
quite  unfit  for  a  white  man — had  not  sent  him  any 
medicine.  Did  the  old  savage  think  that  he  was  likd 
the  wild  beasts  that  are  never  ill?  He  wanted  qui- 
nine. 

He  leaned  the  back  of  his  head  against  the  tree 
and  closed  his  eyes.  He  thought  feebly  that  if  he 
could  get  hold  of  Lingard  he  would  like  to  flay  him 
alive ;  but  it  was  only  a  blurred,  a  short  and  a  passing 
thought.  His  imagination,  exhausted  by  the  repeated 
delineations  of  his  own  fate,  had  not  enough  strength 
left  to  grip  the  idea  of  revenge.  He  was  not  indignant 
and  rebellious.  He  was  cowed.  He  was  cowed  by 
the  immense  cataclysm  of  his  disaster.  Like  most 
men,  he  had  carried  solemnly  within  his  breast  the 
whole  universe,  and  the  approaching  end  of  all  things 
in  the  destruction  of  his  own  personality  filled  him 
with  paralysing  awe.  Everything  was  toppling  over. 
He  blinked  his  eyes  guickly,  and  it  seemed  to  him 


3IO  AN  OUTCAST  OF   THE   ISLANDS. 

that  the  very  sunshine  of  the  morning  disclosed  in  its 
brightness  a  suggestion  of  some  hidden  and  sinister 
meaning.  In  his  unreasoning  fear  he  tried  to  hide 
within  himself.  He  drew  his  feet  up,  his  head  sank 
between  his  shoulders,  his  arms  hugged  his  sides. 
Under  the  high  and  enormous  tree  soaring  superbly 
out  of  the  mist  in  a  vigorous  spread  of  lofty  boughs, 
with  a  restless  and  eager  flutter  of  its  innumerable 
leaves  in  the  clear  sunshine,  he  remained  motionless, 
huddled  up  on  his  seat:  terrified  and  still.  He  looked 
like  a  heap  of  soiled  rags  thrown  over  a  lot  of  bones 
and  topped  by  a  mournful  and  fleshless  head  with  a 
pair  of  big,  shining  eyes,  that  moved  slowly  in  their 
sockets,  wandering  and  stupid. 

Willems'  gaze  roamed  over  the  ground,  and  then 
he  watched  with  idiotic  fixity  half  a  dozen  black  ants 
entering  courageously  a  tuft  of  long  grass  which,  to 
them,  must  have  appeared  a  dark  and  a  dangerous 
jungle.  Suddenly  he  thought:  There  must  be  some- 
thing dead  in  there.  Some  dead  insect.  Death  every- 
where! He  closed  his  eyes  again  in  an  access  of  trem- 
bling panic.  Death  everywhere — wherever  one  looks. 
He  did  not  want  to  see  the  ants.  He  did  not  want 
to  see  anybody  or  anything.  He  sat  in  the  darkness 
of  his  own  making,  reflecting  bitterly  that  there  was 
no  peace  for  him.  He  heard  voices  now.  .  .  .  Illu- 
sion! Misery!  Torment!  Who  would  come?  Who 
would  speak  to  him?  What  business  had  he  to  hear 
voices?  .  .  .  yet  he  heard  them  faintly,  from  the  river. 
Faintly,  as  if  shouted  far  ofif  over  there,  came  the 
words :  "  We  come  back  soon."  .  .  .  Delirium  and 
mockery!  Who  would  come  back?  Nobody  ever 
comes  back.  Fever  comes  back.  He  had  it  on 
him  this  morning.  That  was  it.  .  .  .  He  heard  un- 
expectedly the  old  woman  muttering  something  near 
by.  She  had  come  round  to  his  side  of  the  tree.  He 
opened  his  eyes  and  saw  her  bent  back  before  him 


AN   OUTCAST   OF   THE   ISLANDS. 


311 


She  stood,  with  her  hand  shading  her  eyes,  looking 
towards  the  landing-place.  Then  she  glided  away. 
She  had  seen — and  now  she  was  going  back  to  her 
cooking;  a  woman  incurious;  expecting  nothing; 
without  fear  and  without  hope. 

She  had  gone  back  behind  the  tree,  and  now  Wil- 
lems  could  see  a  human  figure  on  the  path  to  the  land- 
ing-place. It  appeared  to  him  to  be  a  woman,  in  a 
red  gown,  holding  some  heavy  bundle  in  her  arms; 
it  was  an  apparition  unexpected,  familiar  and  odd.  He 
cursed  through  his  teeth  ...  It  had  wanted  only  this ! 
See  things  like  that  in  broad  daylight!  He  was  very 
bad — very  bad.  .  .  .  He  was  horribly  scared  at  this 
awful  symptom  of  the  desperate  state  of  his  health. 

This  scare  lasted  for  the  space  of  a  flash  of  light- 
ning, and  in  the  next  moment  it  was  revealed  to  him 
that  the  woman  was  real ;  that  she  was  coming  towards 
him;  that  she  was  his  wife!  He  put  his  feet  down 
to  the  ground  quickly,  but  made  no  other  movement. 
His  eyes  opened  wide.  He  was  so  amazed  that  for  a 
time  he  absolutely  forgot  his  own  existence.  The  only 
idea  in  his  head  was:  Why  on  earth  did  she  come 
here? 

Joanna  was  coming  up  the  courtyard  with  eager, 
hurried  steps.  She  carried  in  her  arms  the  child, 
wrapped  up  in  one  of  Almayer's  white  blankets  that 
she  had  snatched  off  the  bed  at  the  last  moment,  before 
leaving  the  house.  She  seemed  to  be  dazed  by  the 
sun  in  her  eyes;  bewildered  by  her  strange  surround- 
ings. She  moved  on,  looking  quickly  right  and  left 
in  impatient  expectation  of  seeing  her  husband  at  any 
moment.  Then,  approaching  the  tree,  she  perceived 
suddenly _a  kind  qf_a^jdrkd-u2_Ig^^Q^  corpse,  sitting 
very  stiff  oiTaTench  in  the  shade  and  looking  at  her 
with  big  eyes  that  were  alive.    That  was  her  husband. 

She  stopped  dead  short.  They  stared  at  one  an- 
other in  profound  stillness  with  astounded  eyes,  with 


312  AN  OUTCAST  OF  THE  ISLANDS. 

eyes  maddened  by  the  memories  of  things  far  off  that 
seemed  lost  m  the  lapse  of  time.  Their  looks  crossed, 
passed  each  other,  and  appeared  to  dart  at  them 
through  fantastic  distances,  to  come  straight  from  the 
Incredible. 

Looking  at  him  steadily  she  came  nearer,  and  de- 
posited the  blanket  with  the  child  in  it  on  the  bench. 
Little  Louis,  after  howling  with  terror  in  the  darkness 
of  the  river  most  of  the  night,  now  slept  soundly  and 
did  not  wake.  Willems'  eyes  followed  his  wife,  his 
head  turning  slowly  after  her.  He  accepted  her  pres- 
ence there  with  a  tired  acquiescence  in  its  fabulous 
improbability.  Anything  might  happen.  What  did 
she  come  for?  She  was  part  of  the  general  scheme 
of  his  misfortune.  He  half  expected  that  she  would 
rush  at  him,  pull  his  hair,  and  scratch  his  face.  Why 
not?  Anything  might  happen!  In  an  exaggerated 
sense  of  his  great  bodily  weakness  he  felt  somewhat 
apprehensive  of  possible  assault.  At  any  rate,  she 
would  scream  at  him.  He  knew  her  of  old.  She  could 
screech.  He  had  thought  that  he  was  rid  of  her  for 
ever.    She  came  now  probably  to  see  the  end.  .  .  . 

Suddenly  she  turned,  and  embracing  him  slid 
gently  to  the  ground.  This  startled  him.  With  her 
forehead  on  his  knees  she  sobbed  noiselessly.  He 
looked  down  dismally  at  the  top  of  her  head.  What 
was  she  up  to?  He  had  not  the  strength  to  move — 
to  get  away.  He  heard  her  whispering  something, 
and  bent  over  to  listen.  He  caught  the  word  ''  For- 
give." 

That  was  what  she  came  for!  All  that  way.  Wom- 
en are  queer.  Forgive.  Not  he !  .  .  .  All  at  once  this 
thought  darted  through  his  brain:  How  did  she  come? 
In  a  boat.    Boat!  boat! 

He  shouted  "  Boat!  "  and  jumped  up,  knocking 
her  over.  Before  she  had  time  to  pick  herself  up  he 
pounced  upon  her  and  was  dragging  her  up  by  the 


AN   OUTCAST   OF   THE   ISLANDS.  313 

shoulders.  No  sooner  had  she  regained  her  feet  than 
she  clasped  him  tightly  round  the  neck,  covering  his 
face,  his  eyes,  his  mouth,  his  nose  with  desperate 
kisses.  He  dodged  his  head  about,  shaking  her  arms, 
trying  to  keep  her  ofif,  to  speak,  to  ask  her.  .  .  .  She 
came  in  a  boat,  boat,  boat!  .  .  .  They  struggled  and 
swung  round,  tramping  in  a  semicircle.  He  blurted 
out,  "  Leave  ofif.  Listen,"  while  he  tore  at  her  hands. 
This  meeting  of  lawful  love  and  sincere  joy  resem- 
bled a  fight.  Louis  Willems  slept  peacefully  under 
his  blanket. 

At  last  Willems  managed  to  free  himself,  and  held 
her  off,  pressing  her  arms  down.  He  looked  at  her. 
He  had  half  a  suspicion  that  he  was  dreaming.  Her 
lips  trembled;  her  eyes  wandered  unsteadily,  always 
coming  back  to  his  face.  He  saw  her  the  same  as 
ever,  in  his  presence.  She  appeared  startled,  tremu- 
lous, ready  to  cry.  She  did  not  inspire  him  with  con- 
fidence.    He  shouted — 

"  How  did  you  come?" 

She  answered  in  hurried  words,  looking  at  him 
intently — 

*'  In  a  big  canoe  with  three  men.  I  know  every- 
thing. Lingard's  away.  I  come  to  save  you.  I  know. 
.  .  .  Almayer  told  me." 

"  Canoe !  .  .  .  Almayer.  .  .  .  Lies.  Told  you.  .  .  , 
You!"  stammered  Willems  in  a  distracted  manner. 
"Why  you?  .  .  .  told  what?" 

Words  failed  him.  He  stared  at  his  wife,  thinking 
with  fear  that  she — stupid  woman — had  been  made  a 
tool  in  some  plan  of  treachery  ...  in  some  deadly 
plot. 

She  began  to  cry — 

"  Don't  look  at  me  like  that,  Peter.  What  have 
I  done?  I  come  to  beg  ...  to  beg  .  .  .  forgiveness, 
.  .  .  Save  .  .  .  Lingard  .  .  .  danger." 

He  trembled  with  impatience,  with  hope,  with  fear. 


314 


AN   OUTCAST   OF   THE   ISLANDS. 


She  looked  at  him  and  sobbed  out  in  a  fresh  outburst 
of  grief — 

"Oh!  Peter.  What's  the  matter?  .  .  .  Are  you 
ill?  .  .  .  Oh!  you  look  so  ill  .  .  ." 

He  shook  her  violently  into  a  terrified  and  wonder- 
ing silence. 

"  How  dare  you!  ...  I  am  well  .  .  .  perfectly 
well.  .  .  .  Where's  that  boat?  Will  you  tell  me  where 
that  boat  is — at  last?    The  boat,  I  say.  .  .  .  You!  .  .  ." 

"  You  hurt  me,"  she  moaned. 

He  let  her  go,  and,  mastering  her  terror,  she  stood 
quivering  and  looking  at  him  with  strange  intensity. 
Then  she  made  a  movement  forward,  but  he  lifted  his 
finger,  and  she  restrained  herself  with  a  long  sigh. 
He  calmed  down  suddenly  and  surveyed  her  with  cold 
criticism,  with  the  same  appearance  as  when,  in  the 
old  days,  he  used  to  find  fault  with  the  household 
expenses.  She  found  a  kind  of  fearful  delight  in  this 
abrupt  return  into  the  past,  into  her  old  subjection. 

He  stood  outwardly  collected  now,  and  listened  to 
her  disconnected  story.  Her  words  seemed  to  fall 
round  him  with  the  distracting  clatter  of  stunning 
hail.  He  caught  the  meaning  here  and  there,  and 
straightway  would  lose  himself  in  a  tremendous  effort 
to  shape  out  some  intelligible  theory  of  events.  There 
was  a  boat.  A  boat.  A  big  boat  that  could  take  him 
to  sea  if  necessary.  That  much  was  clear.  She 
brought  it.  Why  did  Almayer  lie  to  her  so?  Was 
it  a  plan  to  decoy  him  into  some  ambush?  Better 
that  than  hopeless  solitude.  She  had  money.  The 
men  were  ready  to  go  anywhere  .  .  .  she  said. 

He  interrupted  her — 

"  Where  are  they  now?  " 

"  They  are  coming  directly,"  she  answered,  tear- 
fully. "  Directly.  There  are  some  fishing  stakes  near 
here — they  said.     They  are  coming  directly." 

Again  she  was  talking  and  sobbing  together.    She 


AN   0UTCA3T  OF   THE   ISLANDS. 


315 


wanted  to  be  forgiven.  Forgiven?  What  for?  Ah! 
the  scene  in  Macassar.  As  if  he  had  time  to  think 
of  that !  What  did  he  care  what  she  had  done  months 
ago?  He  seemed  to  struggle  in  the  toils  of  compli- 
cated dreams  where  everything  was  impossible,  yet  a 
matter  of  course,  where  the  past  took  the  aspects  of 
the  future  and  the  present  lay  heavy  on  his  heart — 
seemed  to  take  him  by  the  throat  like  the  hand  of  an 
enemy.  And  while  she  begged,  entreated,  kissed  his 
hands,  wept  on  his  shoulder,  adjured  him  in  the  name 
of  God,  to  forgive,  to  forget,  to  speak  the  word  for 
which  she  longed,  to  look  at  his  boy,  to  believe  in  her 
sorrow  and  in  her  devotion — his  eyes,  in  the  fascinated 
immobility  of  shining  pupils,  looked  far  away,  far  be- 
yond her,  beyond  the  river,  beyond  this  land,  through 
days,  weeks,  months;  looked  into  liberty,  into  the  fu- 
ture, into  his  triumph  .  .  .  into  a  great  possibility  of 
a  startling  revenge. 

He  felt  a  sudden  desire  to  dance  and  shout.  He 
shouted — 

*'  After  all,  we  shall  meet  again.  Captain  Lingard." 

"  Oh,  no!     No!  "  she  cried,  joining  her  hands. 

He  looked  at  her  with  surprise.  He  had  forgotten 
she  was  there  till  the  break  of  her  cry  in  the  monoto- 
nous tones  of  her  prayer  recalled  him  into  that  court- 
yard from  the  glorious  turmoil  of  his  dreams.  It  was 
very  strange  to  see  her  there — near  him.  He  felt  al- 
most afifectionate  towards  her.  After  all,  she  came 
just  in  time.  Then  he  thought:  That  other  one.  I 
must  get  away  without  a  scene.  Who  knows;  she 
may  be  dangerous!  .  .  .  And  all  at  once  he  felt  he 
hated  Aissa  with  an  immense  hatred  that  seemed  to 
choke  him.    He  said  to  his  wife — 

"  Wait  a  moment." 

She,  obedient,  seemed  to  gulp  down  some  words 
which  wanted  to  come  out.  He  muttered :  "  Stay 
here,"  and  disappeared  round  the  tree. 


3i6  AN   OUTCAST  OF  THE   ISLANDS. 

The  water  in  the  iron  pan  on  the  cooking  fire  boiled 
furiously,  belching  out  volumes  of  white  steam  that 
mixed  with  the  thin  black  thread  of  smoke.  The  old 
woman  appeared  to  him  through  this  as  if  in  a  fog, 
squatting  on  her  heels,  impassive  and  weird. 

Willems  came  up  near  and  asked,  "  Where  is 
she?  " 

The  woman  did  not  even  lift  her  head,  but  ansv/ered 
at  once,  readily,  as  though  she  had  expected  the  ques- 
tion for  a  long  time. 

*'  When  you  were  asleep  under  the  tree,  before  the 
strange  canoe  came,  she  went  out  of  the  house.  I  saw 
her  look  at  you  and  pass  on  with  a  great  light  in  her 
eyes.  A  great  light.  And  she  went  towards  the  place 
where  our  master  Lakamba  had  his  fruit  trees.  When 
we  were  many  here.  Many,  many.  Men  with  arms 
by  their  side.  Many  .  .  .  men.  And  talk  .  .  .  and 
songs  .  .  ." 

She  went  on  like  that,  raving  gently  to  herself  for 
a  long  time  after  Willems  had  left  her. 

Willems  went  back  to  his  wife.  He  came  up  close 
to  her  and  found  he  had  nothing  to  say.  Now  all  his 
faculties  were  concentrated  upon  his  wish  to  avoid 
A'lssa.  She  might  stay  all  the  morning  in  that  grove. 
Why  did  those  rascally  boatmen  go.  He  had  a  physi- 
cal repugnance  to  set  eyes  on  her.  And  somewhere, 
at  the  very  bottom  of  his  heart,  there  was  a  fear  of 
her.  Why?  What  could  she  do?  Nothing  on  earth 
could  stop  him  now.  He  felt  strong,  reckless,  piti- 
less, and  superior  to  everything.  He  wanted  to  pre- 
serve before  his  wife  the  lofty  purity  of  his  character. 
He  thought:  She  does  not  know.  Almayer  held  his 
tongue  about  Aissa.  But  if  she  finds  out,  I  am  lost. 
If  it  hadn't  been  for  the  boy  I  would  .  .  .  free  of  both 
of  them.  .  .  .  The  idea  darted  through  his  head.  Not 
he!  Married.  .  .  .  Swore  solemnly.  No  .  .  .  sacred 
tic.  .  .  .  Looking  on  his  wife,  he  felt  for  the  first  time 


AN   OUTCAST   OF   THE   ISLANDS.  317 

in  his  life  something  approaching  remorse.  Remorse, 
arising  from  his  conception  of  the  awful  nature  of  an 
oath  before  the  altar.  .  .  .  She  mustn't  find  out.  .  .  . 
Oh  for  that  boat!  He  must  go  and  get  his  revolver. 
Couldn't  think  of  trusting  himself  unarmed  with  those 
Bajow  fellows.  Get  it  now  while  she  is  away.  Oh 
for  that  boat!  ...  He  dared  not  go  to  the  river  and 
hail.  He  thought:  She  might  hear  me.  ...  I  go  and 
get  .  .  .  cartridges  .  .  .  then  will  be  all  ready  .  .  . 
nothing  else.    No. 

And  while  he  stood  meditating  profoundly  before 
he  could  make  up  his  mind  to  run  to  the  house,  Joanna 
pleaded,  holding  to  his  arm— pleaded  despairingly, 
broken-hearted,  hopeless  whenever  she  glanced  up  at 
his  face,  which  to  her  seemed  to  wear  the  aspect  of 
unforgiving  rectitude,  of  virtuous  severity,  of  merci- 
less justice.  And  she  pleaded  humbly — abashed  be- 
fore him,  before  the  unmoved  appearance  of  the  man 
she  had  wronged  in  defiance  of  human  and  divine  laws. 
He  heard  not  a  word  of  what  she  said  until  she  raised 
her  voice  in  a  final  appeal — 

".  .  .  Don't  you  see  I  loved  you  always?  They 
told  me  horrible  things  about  you.  .  .  .  My  own 
mother!  They  told  me  .  .  .  you  have  been  .  .  .  you 
have  been  unfaithful  to  me,  and  I  .  .  ." 

"  It's  a  damned  lie!  "  shouted  Willems,  waking  up 
for  a  moment  into  righteous  indignation. 

"  I  know!  I  know.  ...  Be  generous.  .  .  .  Think 
of  my  misery  since  you  went  away.  .  .  .  Oh !  I  could 
have  torn  my  tongue  out.  ...  I  will  never  believe 
anybody.  .  .  .  Look  at  the  boy.  ...  Be  merciful. 
...  I  could  never  rest  till  I  found  you.  .  .  .  Say  .  .  . 
a  word  .  .  .  one  word  .  .  ." 

"  What  the  devil  do  you  want?  "  exclaimed  Wil- 
lems, looking  towards  the  river.  "Where's  that 
damned  boat?  Why  did  you  let  them  go  away?  You 
stupid!" 


318 


AN   OUTCAST  OF   THE   ISLANDS. 


"  Oh,  Peter!  ...  I  know  that  in  your  heart  you 
have  forgiven  me.  .  .  .  You  are  so  generous.  ...  I 
want  to  hear  you  say  so.  .  .  .  Tell  me  ...  do  you?" 

''Yes!  yes!"  said  Willems,  impatiently.  "I  for- 
give you.    Don't  be  a  fool." 

"  Don't  go  away.  Don't  leave  me  alone  here. 
Where  is  the  danger?  I  am  so  frightened.  .  .  .  Are 
you  alone  here?    Sure?  .  .  .  Let  us  go  away!  " 

"  That's  sense,"  said  Willems,  still  looking  anx- 
iously towards  the  river. 

She  sobbed  gently,  leaning  on  his  arm. 

*'  Let  me  go,"  he  said. 

He  had  seen  above  the  steep  bank  the  heads  of 
three  men  glide  along  smoothly.  Then,  where  the 
shore  shelved  down  to  the  landing-place,  appeared  a 
big  canoe  which  came  slowly  to  land. 

*'  Here  they  are,"  he  went  on  briskly.  *'  I'll  go 
and  get  my  revolver." 

He  made  a  few  hurried  paces  towards  the  house, 
but  seemed  to  catch  sight  of  something,  turned  short 
round  and  came  back  to  his  wife.  She  stared  at  him, 
alarmed  by  the  sudden  change  in  his  face.  He  ap- 
peared much  discomposed.  He  stammered  a  little  as 
he  began  to  speak. 

"  Go.  Take  the  child.  Go  down  to  the  boat  and  tell 
them  to  drop  it  out  of  sight,  quick,  behind  the  bushes. 
Do  you  hear?  Hurry!  I  will  come  to  you  there  di- 
rectly.   Hurry  up!  " 

"  Peter!  What  is  it?  I  won't  leave  you.  There 
is  some  danger  in  this  horrible  place." 

"  Will  you  go?  "  said  Willems,  in  an  irritable  whis- 
per.   "  I  tell  you  I  am  coming.    Run!     I  tell  you." 

"  No!  no!  no!  I  won't  leave  you.  I  will  not  lose 
you  again.    Tell  me,  what  is  it?  " 

From  beyond  the  house  came  a  faint  voice  singing. 
Willems  shook  his  wife  by  the  shoulder. 

"  Do  what  I  tell  you!    Go  at  once!  " 


AN  OUTCAST   OF  THE   ISLANDS. 


319 


She  gripped  his  arm  and  clung  to  him  desperately. 
He  looked  up  to  heaven  as  if  taking  it  to  witness  of 
that  woman's  infernal  folly.  The  song  grew  louder, 
then  ceased  suddenly,  and  Aissa  appeared  in  sight, 
walking  slowly,  her  hands  full  of  flowers. 

She  had  turned  the  corner  of  the  house,  coming 
out  into  the  full  sunshine,  and  the  light  seemed  to 
leap  upon  her  in  a  stream  brilliant,  tender,  and  ca- 
ressing, as  if  attracted  by  the  radiant  happiness  of  her 
face.  She  had  dressed  herself  for  a  festive  day,  for 
the  memorable  day  of  his  return  to  her,  of  his  return 
to  an  affection  that  would  last  for  ever.  The  rays  of 
the  morning  sun  were  caught  by  the  oval  clasp  of  the 
embroidered  belt  that  held  the  silk  sarong  round  her 
waist.  The  dazzling  white  stufif  of  her  body  jacket 
was  crossed  by  a  bar  of  yellow  and  silver  of  her  scarf, 
and  in  the  black  hair  twisted  high  on  her  small  head 
shone  the  round  balls  of  gold  pins  amongst  crimson 
blossoms  and  white  star-shaped  flowers,  with  which 
she  had  crowned  herself  to  charm  his  eyes;  those  eyes 
that  were  henceforth  to  see  nothing  in  the  world  but 
her  own  resplendent  image.  And  she  moved  slowly, 
bending  her  face  over  the  mass  of  pure  white  cham- 
pakas  and  jasmine  pressed  to  her  breast,  in  a  dreamy 
intoxication  of  sweet  scents  and  of  sweeter  hopes. 

She  did  not  seem  to  see  anything,  stopped  for  a 
moment  at  the  foot  of  the  plankway  leading  to  the 
house,  then,  leaving  her  high-heeled  wooden  sandals 
there,  ascended  the  planks  in  a  light  run;  straight, 
graceful,  flexible  and  noiseless,  as  if  she  had  soared  up 
to  the  door  on  invisible  wings.  Willems  pushed  his 
wife  roughly  behind  the  tree,  and  made  up  his  mind 
quickly  for  a  rush  to  the  house,  to  get  his  revolver 
and  .  .  .  Thoughts,  doubts,  expedients  seemed  to 
boil  in  his  brain.  He  had  a  flashing  vision  of  deliver- 
ing a  stunning  blow,  of  tying  up  that  flower  bedecked 
woman  in  the  dark  house — a  vision  of  things  done 


320 


AN   OUTCAST   OF  THE   ISLANDS. 


swiftly  with  enraged  haste — to  save  his  prestige,  his 
superiority — something  of  immense  importance.  .  .  . 
had  not  made  two  steps  when  Joanna  bounded  after 
him,  caught  the  back  of  his  ragged  jacket,  tore  out 
a  big  piece,  and  instantly  hooked  herself  with  both 
hands  to  the  collar,  nearly  dragging  him  down  on 
his  back.  Although  taken  by  surprise,  he  managed 
to  keep  his  feet.  From  behind  she  panted  into  his 
ear — 

"That  woman!  Who's  that  woman?  Ah!  that's 
what  those  boatmen  were  talking  about.  I  heard 
them  .  .  .  heard  them  .  .  .  heard  ...  in  the  night. 
They  spoke  about  some  woman.  I  dared  not  under- 
stand. I  would  not  ask  .  .  .  listen  .  .  .  believe! 
How  could  I?  Then  it's  true.  No.  Say  no.  .  .  . 
Who's  that  woman?  " 

He  swayed,  tugging  forward.  She  jerked  at  him 
till  the  button  gave  way,  and  then  he  slipped  half  out 
of  his  jacket  and,  turning  round,  remained  strangely 
motionless.  His  heart  seemed  to  beat  in  his  throat. 
He  choked — tried  to  speak — could  *aot  find  any  words. 
He  thought  with  fury  I  will  kill  both  of  them. 

For  a  second  nothing  moved  about  the  courtyard 
in  the  great  vivid  clearness  of  the  day.  Only  down  by 
the  landing-place  a  waringan-tree,  all  in  a  blaze  of  clus- 
tering red  berries,  seemed  alive  with  the  stir  of  little 
birds  that  filled  with  the  feverish  flutter  of  their  feath- 
ers the  tangle  of  overloaded  branches.  Suddenly  the 
variegated  flock  rose  spinning  in  a  soft  whirr  and  dis- 
persed, slashing  the  sunlit  haze  with  the  sharp  out- 
lines of  stiffened  wings.  Mahmat  and  one  of  his 
brothers  appeared  coming  up  from  the  landing-place, 
their  lances  in  their  hands,  to  look  for  their  passengers. 

Aissa  coming  now  empty-handed  out  of  the  house, 
caught  sight  of  the  two  armed  men.  In  her  surprise 
she  emitted  a  faint  cry,  vanished  back  and  in  a  fiash 
reappeared  in  the  doorway  with  Willems'  revolver  in 


AN   OUTCAST  OF  THE  ISLANDS. 


321 


her  hand.  To  her  the  presence  of  any  man  there 
could  only  have  an  ominous  meaning.  There  was 
nothing  in  the  outer  world  but  enemies.  She  and  the 
man  she  loved  were  alone,  with  nothing  round  them 
but  menacing  dangers.  She  did  not  mind  that,  for  if 
death  came,  no  matter  from  what  hand,  they  would 
die  together. 

Her  resolute  eyes  took  in  the  courtyard  in  a  circular 
glance.  She  noticed  that  the  two  strangers  had  ceased 
to  advance  and  now  were  standing  close  together 
leaning  on  the  polished  shafts  of  their  weapons.  The 
next  moment  she  saw  Willems,  with  his  back  towards 
her,  apparently  struggling  under  the  tree  with  some 
one.  She  saw  nothing  distinctly,  and,  unhesitating, 
she  flew  down  the  plankway  calling  out:  "  I  come!  " 

He  heard  her  cry,  and  with  an  unexpected  rush 
drove  his  wife  backwards  to  the  seat.  She  fell  on  itj 
he  jerked  himself  altogether  out  of  his  jacket,  and  she 
covered  her  face  with  the  soiled  rags.  He  put  his  lips 
close  to  her,  asking — 

"  For  the  last  time,  will  you  take  the  child  and  go?  " 

She  groaned  behind  the  unclean  ruins  of  his  upper 
garment.  She  mumbled  something.  He  bent  lower 
to  hear.     She  was  saying — 

*'  I  won't  go.  Order  that  woman  away.  1  can't 
look  at  her!" 

"You  fool!" 

He  seemed  to  spit  the  words  at  her,  then,  making 
up  his  mind,  spun  round  to  face  Aissa.  She  was 
coming  towards  them  slowly  now,  with  a  look  of  un- 
bounded amazement  on  her  face.  Then  she  stopped 
and  stared  at  him — who  stood  there  stripped  to  the 
w^aist,  bareheaded  and  sombre. 

Some  way  off,  Mahmat  and  his  brother  exchanged 
rapid  words  in  calm  undertones.  .  .  .  This  was  the 
strong  daughter  of  the  holy  man  who  had  died.  The 
white  man  is  very  tall.    There  would  be  three  women 


322  AN   OUTCAST   OF   THE   ISLANDS. 

and  the  child  to  take  in  the  boat,  besides  that  white 
man  who  had  the  money.  .  .  .  The  brother  went 
away  back  to  the  boat,  and  Mahmat  remained  looking 
on.  He  stood  Hke  a  sentinel,  the  leaf-shaped  blade 
of  his  lance  glinting  above  his  head,  somnolent  and 
upright  under  the  cataract  of  sun-rays. 

Willems  spoke  suddenly. 

*'  Give  me  this,"  he  said,  stretching  his  hand  to- 
wards the  revolver. 

Aissa  stepped  back.  Her  lips  trembled.  She  said 
very  low:  "Your  people?" 

He  nodded  slightly.  She  shook  her  head  thought- 
fully, and  a  few  delicate  petals  of  the  flowers  dying  in 
her  hair  fell  like  big  drops  of  crimson  and  white  at 
her  feet. 

"  Did  you  know?  "  she  whispered. 

*'  No!  "  said  Willems.    ''  They  sent  for  me." 

*'  Tell  them  to  go.  They  are  accursed.  What  is 
there  between  them  and  you — and  you  who  carry  my 
life  in  your  heart!  " 

Willems  said  nothing.  He  stood  before  her  look- 
ing down  on  the  ground  and  repeating  to  himself:  I 
m.ust  get  that  revolver  away  from  her,  at  once,  at  once. 
I  can't  think  of  trusting  myself  with  those  men  with- 
out firearms.    I  must  have  it. 

She  asked,  after  gazing  in  silence  at  Joanna,  who 
was  sobbing  gently — 

''Who  is  she?" 

"  My  wife,"  answered  Willems,  without  looking  up. 
"  My  wife  according  to  our  white  law,  which  comes 
from  God!" 

"Your  law!  Your  God!"  murmured  Aissa,  con- 
temptuously. 

"  Give  me  this  revolver,"  said  Willems,  in  a  per- 
emptory tone.  He  felt  an  unwillingness  to  close  with 
her,  to  get  it  by  force. 

She  took  no  notice  and  went  on — 


AN   OUTCAST  OF  THE   ISLANDS. 


323 


"  Your  law  ...  or  your  lies?  What  am  I  to  be- 
lieve? I  came — I  ran  to  defend  you  when  I  saw  the 
strange  men.  You  lied  to  me  with  your  lips,  with 
your  eyes.  You  crooked  heart!  .  .  .  Ah!"  she 
added,  after  an  abrupt  pause.  "  She  is  the  first!  Am 
I  then  to  be  a  slave?  " 

"  You  may  be  what  you  like,"  said  Willems,  brutal- 
ly.   "  I  am  going." 

Her  gaze  was  fastened  on  the  blanket  under  which 
she  had  detected  a  slight  movement.  She  made  a  long 
stride  towards  it.  Willems  turned  half  round.  His 
legs  seemed  to  him  to  be  made  of  lead.  He  felt  faint 
and  so  weak  that,  for  a  moment,  the  fear  of  dying 
there  where  he  stood,  before  he  could  escape  from  sin 
and  disaster,  passed  through  his  mind  in  a  wave  of 
despair. 

She  Hfted  up  one  corner  of  the  blanket,  and  when 
she  saw  the  sleeping  child  a  sudden  quick  shudder 
shook  her  as  though  she  had  seen  something  inex- 
pressibly horrible.  She  looked  at  Louis  Willems  with 
eyes  fixed  in  an  unbelieving  and  terrified  stare.  Then 
her  fingers  opened  slowly,  and  a  shadow  seemed  to 
settle  on  her  face  as  if  something  obscure  and  fatal 
had  come  between  her  and  the  sunshine.  She  stood 
looking  down,  absorbed,  as  though  she  had  watched  at 
the  bottom  of  a  gloomy  abyss  the  mournful  procession 
of  her  thoughts. 

Willems  did  not  move.  All  his  faculties  were  con- 
centrated upon  the  idea  of  his  release.  And  it  was 
only  then,  in  that  minute,  when  the  assurance  of  it 
came  to  him  with  such  force  that  he  seemed  to  hear  a 
loud  voice  shouting  in  the  heavens  that  all  was  over, 
that  in  another  five,  ten  minutes,  he  would  step  into 
another  existence;  that  all  this,  the  woman,  the  mad- 
ness, the  sin,  the  regrets,  all  would  go,  rush  into  the 
past,  disappear,  become  as  dust,  as  smoke,  as  drifting 
clouds — as  nothing!    Yes!     All  would  vanish  in  the 


324 


AN  OUTCAST  OF   THE   ISLANDS. 


unappeasable  past  which  would  swallow  up  all — even 
the  very  memory  of  his  temptation  and  of  his  down- 
fall. Nothing  mattered.  He  cared  for  nothing.  He 
had  forgotten  A'issa,  his  wife,  Lingard,  Hudig — every- 
body, in  the  rapid  vision  of  his  hopeful  future. 

After  a  while  he  heard  Aissa  saying — 

"A  child!  A  child!  What  have  I  done  to  be 
made  to  devour  this  sorrow  and  this  grief?  And  while 
your  man-child  and  the  mother  lived  you  told  me  there 
was  nothing  for  you  to  remember  in  the  land  from 
which  you  came!  And  I  thought  you  could  be  mine. 
I  thought  that  I  would  .  .  ." 

Her  voice  ceased  in  a  broken  murmur,  and  with 
it,  in  her  heart,  seemed  to  die  the  greater  and  most 
precious  hope  of  her  new  life.  She  had  hoped  that 
in  the  future  the  frail  arms  of  a  child  would  bind  their 
two  lives  together  in  a  bond  which  nothing  on  earth 
could  break,  a  bond  of  afifection,  of  gratitude,  of  tender 
respect.  She  the  first — the  only  one!  But  in  the  in- 
stant she  saw  the  son  of  that  other  woman  she  felt 
herself  removed  into  the  cold,  the  darkness,  the  silence 
of  a  solitude  impenetrable  and  immense — very  far  from 
him,  beyond  the  possibility  of  any  hope,  into  an  infinity 
of  wrongs  without  any  redress. 

She  strode  nearer  to  Joanna.  She  felt  towards  that 
woman  anger,  envy,  jealousy.  Before  her  she  felt 
humiliated  and  enraged.  She  seized  the  hanging 
sleeve  of  the  jacket  in  which  Joanna  was  hiding 
her  face  and  tore  it  out  of  her  hands,  exclaiming 
loudly — 

"  Let  me  see  the  face  of  her  before  whom  I  am  only 
a  servant  and  a  slave.    Ya-wa!    I  see  you!  " 

Her  unexpected  shout  seemed  to  fill  the  sunlit 
space  of  cleared  grounds,  rise  high  and  run  on  far  into 
the  land  over  the  unstirring  tree-tops  of  the  forests. 
She  stood  in  sudden  stillness,  looking  at  Joanna  with 
surprised  contempt. 


AN   OUTCAST   OF   THE   ISLANDS.  325 

"  A  Sirani  woman !  "  she  said,  slowly,  in  a  tone  of 
wonder. 

Joanna  rushed  at  Willems — clung  to  him,  shriek- 
ing: "  Defend  me,  Peter!  Defend  me  from  that 
woman!  " 

"  Be  quiet.  There  is  no  danger,"  muttered  Wil- 
lems, thickly. 

Aissa  looked  at  them  with  scorn.  "  God  is  great! 
I  sit  in  the  dust  at  your  feet,"  she  exclaimed  jeeringly, 
joining  her  hands  above  her  head  in  a  gesture  of  mock 
humility.  "  Before  you  I  am  as  nothing."  She  turned 
to  Willems  fiercely,  opening  her  arms  wide.  "  What 
have  you  made  of  me?"  she  cried,  "you  lying  child 
of  an  accursed  mother!  What  have  you  made  of  me? 
The  slave  of  a  slave.  Don't  speak!  Your  words  are 
worse  than  the  poison  of  snakes.  A  Sirani  woman. 
A  woman  of  a  people  despised  by  all." 

She  pointed  her  finger  at  Joanna,  stepped  back, 
and  began  to  laugh. 

"Make  her  stop,  Peter!"  screamed  Joanna. 
"  That  heathen  woman.  Heathen!  Heathen!  Beat 
her,  Peter." 

Willems  caught  sight  of  the  revolver  which  Aissa 
had  laid  on  the  seat  near  the  child.  He  spoke  in  Dutch 
to  his  wife  without  moving  his  head. 

"  Go.  Snatch  the  boy— and  my  revolver  there. 
See.  Run  to  the  boat.  I  will  keep  her  back.  Now's 
the  time." 

Aissa  came  nearer.  She  stared  at  Joanna,  while 
between  the  short  gusts  of  broken  laughter  she  raved, 
fumbling  distractedly  at  the  buckle  of  her  belt. 

"To  her!  To  her — the  mother  of  him  who  will 
speak  of  your  wisdom,  of  your  courage.  All  to  her. 
I  have  nothing.    Nothing.    Take,  take." 

She  tore  the  belt  off  and  threw  it  at  Joanna's  feet. 
She  fiung  down  with  haste  the  armlets,  the  gold  pins, 
the  flowers;  and  the  long  hair,  released,  fell  scattered 


326  AN  OUTCAST   OF  THE   ISLANDS. 

over  her  shoulders,  framing  in  its  blackness  the  wild 
exaltation  of  her  face. 

"  Drive  her  off,  Peter.  Drive  off  the  heathen  sav- 
age," persisted  Joanna.  She  seemed  to  have  lost  her 
head  altogether.  She  stamped,  clinging  to  Willems' 
arm  with  both  her  hands. 

"  Look,"  cried  A'issa.  ''  Look  at  the  mother  of 
your  son!  She  is  afraid.  Why  does  she  not  go  from 
before  my  face?    Look  at  her.    She  is  ugly." 

Joanna  seemed  to  understand  the  scornful  tone  of 
the  words.  As  Aissa  stepped  back  again  nearer  to 
the  tree  she  let  go  her  husband's  arm,  rushed  at  her 
madly,  slapped  her  face,  then,  swerving  round,  darted 
at  the  child  who,  unnoticed,  had  been  wailing  for 
some  time,  and,  snatching  him  up,  flew  down  to  the 
waterside,  sending  shriek  after  shriek  in  an  access  of 
insane  terror. 

Willems  made  for  the  revolver.  Aissa  passed  swift- 
ly, giving  him  an  unexpected  push  that  sent  him  stag- 
gering away  from  the  tree.  She  caught  up  the  weapon, 
put  it  behind  her  back,  and  cried — 

"  You  shall  not  have  it.  Go  after  her.  Go  to  meet 
danger.  ...  Go  to  meet  death.  ...  Go  unarmed. 
...  Go  with  empty  hands  and  sweet  words  ...  as 
you  came  to  me.  .  .  .  Go  helpless  and  lie  to  the  for- 
ests, to  the  sea  ...  to  the  death  that  waits  for 
you " 

She  ceased  as  if  strangled.  She  saw  in  the  horror 
of  the  passing  seconds  the  half-naked,  wild-looking 
man  before  her;  she  heard  the  faint  shrillness  of  Jo- 
anna's insane  shrieks  for  help  somewhere  down  by 
the  riverside.  The  sunlight  streamed  on  her,  on  him, 
on  the  mute  land,  on  the  murmuring  river — the  gentle 
brilliance  of  a  serene  morning  that,  to  her,  seemed 
traversed  by  ghastly  flashes  of  uncertain  darkness. 
Hate  filled  the  world,  filled  the  space  between  them 
—the  hate  of  race,  the  hate  of  hopeless  diversity,  the 


AN  OUTCAST  OF  THE   ISLANDS. 


327 


hate  of  blood;  the  hate  against  the  man  born  in  the 
land  of  gloom  and  of  evil  from  which  nothing  but  mis- 
fortune comes  to  those  who  are  not  white.  And  as 
she  stood,  maddened,  she  heard  a  whisper  near  her, 
the  whisper  of  the  dead  Omar's  voice  saying  in  her 
ear:  "KiU!    Kill!" 

She  cried,  seeing  him  move — 

"  Do  not  come  near  me  ...  or  you  die  now!  Go 
while  I  remember  yet  .  .  .  remember.  .  .  ." 

Willems  pulled  himself  together  for  a  struggle.  He 
dared  not  go  unarmed.  He  made  a  long  stride,  and 
saw  her  raise  the  revolver.  He  noticed  that  she  had 
not  cocked  it,  and  said  to  himself  that,  even  if  she  did 
fire,  she  would  surely  miss.  Go  too  high;  it  was  a 
stiff  trigger.  He  made  a  step  nearer — saw  the  long 
barrel  moving  unsteadily  at  the  end  of  her  extended 
arm.  He  thought:  This  is  my  time  .  .  .  He  bent  his 
knees  slightly,  throwing  his  body  forward,  and  took 
off  with  a  long  bound  for  a  tearing  rush. 

He  saw  a  burst  of  red  flame  before  his  eyes,  and 
was  deafened  by  a  report  that  seemed  to  him  louder 
than  a  clap  of  thunder.  Something  stopped  him  short, 
and  he  stood  aspiring  in  his  nostrils  the  acrid  smell 
of  the  blue  smoke  that  drifted  from  before  his  eyes 
like  an  immense  cloud.  .  .  .  Missed,  by  Heaven!  .  .  . 
Thought  so !  .  .  .  And  he  saw  her  very  far  off,  throw- 
ing her  arms  up,  while  the  revolver,  very  small,  lay  on 
the  ground  between  them.  .  .  .  Missed!  .  .  .  He 
would  go  and  pick  it  up  now.  Never  before  did  he 
understand,  as  in  that  second,  the  joy,  the  triumphant 
delight  of  sunshine  and  of  life.  His  mouth  was  full 
of  something  salt  and  warm.  He  tried  to  cough ;  spat 
out.  .  .  .  Who  shrieks:  In  the  name  of  God,  he  dies! 
— he    dies! — Who    dies? — Must    pick    up — What? — 

Night.  .  .  .  Night  already.  .  .  . 

****** 

Many  years  afterwards  Almayer  was  telling  the 


328  AN   OUTCAST   OF   THE   ISLANDS. 

story  of  the  great  revolution  in  Sambir  to  a  chance 
visitor  from  Europe.  He  was  a  Roumanian,  half 
naturalist,  half  orchid-hunter  for  commercial  purposes, 
who  used  to  declare  to  everybody  in  the  first  five  min- 
utes of  acquaintance  his  intention  of  writing  a  scien- 
tific book  about  tropical  countries.  On  his  way  to  the 
interior  he  had  quartered  himself  upon  Almayer.  He 
was  a  man  of  some  education,  but  he  drank  his  gin 
neat,  or  only,  at  most,  would  squeeze  the  juice  ol 
half  a  small  lime  into  the  raw  spirit.  He  said  it  was 
good  for  his  health,  and,  with  that  medicine  before 
him,  he  would  relate  to  the  surprised  Almayer  the 
wonders  of  European  capitals;  while  Almayer,  in  ex- 
change, bored  him  by  expounding,  with  gusto,  his 
unfavourable  opinions  of  Sambir's  social  and  poHtical 
life.  They  talked  far  into  the  night,  across  the  deal 
table  on  the  verandah,  while,  between  them,  clear- 
winged,  small,  and  flabby  insects,  dissatisfied  with 
moonlight,  streamed  in  and  perished  in  thousands 
round  the  smoky  light  of  the  evil-smelling  lamp. 
Almayer,  his  face  flushed,  was  saying — 
'*  Of  course,  I  did  not  see  that.  I  told  you  I  was 
stuck  in  the  creek  on  account  of  father's — Captain 
Lingard's — susceptible  temper.  I  am  sure  I  did  it  all 
for  the  best  in  trying  to  facilitate  the  fellow's  escape; 
but  Captain  Lingard  was  that  kind  of  man — you  know 
— one  couldn't  argue  with.  Just  before  sunset  the 
water  was  high  enough,  and  we  got  out  of  the  creek. 
We  got  to  Lakamba's  clearing  about  dark.  All  very 
quiet;  I  thought  they  were  gone,  of  course,  and  felt 
very  glad.  We  walked  up  the  courtyard — saw  a  big 
heap  of  something  lying  in  the  middle.  Out  of  that 
she  rose  and  rushed  at  us.  By  God.  .  .  .  You  know 
those  stories  of  faithful  dogs  watching  their  masters' 
corpses  .  .  .  don't  let  anybody  approach  .  .  .  got  to 
beat  them  oflF — and  all  that.  .  .  .  Well,  'pon  my  word 
we  had  to  beat  her  ofif.    Had  to!    She  was  like  a  fury. 


AN   OUTCAST   OF   THE   ISLANDS. 


329 


Wouldn't  let  us  touch  him.  Dead — of  course.  Should 
think  so.  Shot  through  the  lung,  on  the  left  side, 
rather  high  up,  and  at  pretty  close  quarters  too,  for 
the  two  holes  were  small.  Bullet  came  out  through 
the  shoulder-blade.  After  we  had  overpowered  her — 
you  can't  imagine  how  strong  that  woman  was;  it 
took  three  of  us — we  got  the  body  into  the  boat  and 
shoved  off.  We  thought  she  had  fainted  then,  but 
she  got  up  and  rushed  into  the  water.  Well,  I  let 
her  clamber  in.  What  could  I  do?  The  river's  full 
of  alligators,  and  she  would  swim  after  us.  I  will 
never  forget  that  pull  up-stream  in  the  night  as  long 
as  I  live.  She  sat  in  the  bottom  of  the  boat,  holding 
his  head  in  her  lap,  and  now  and  again  wiping  his  face 
with  her  hair.  There  was  a  lot  of  blood  dried  about 
his  mouth  and  chin.  And  for  all  the  six  hours  of  that 
journey  she  kept  on  whispering  tenderly  to  that 
corpse!  ...  I  had  the  mate  of  the  schooner  with  me. 
The  man  said  afterwards  that  he  wouldn't  go  through 
it  again — not  for  a  handful  of  diamonds.  And  I  be- 
lieved him — I  did.  It  makes  me  shiver.  Do  you  think 
he  heard?  No!  I  mean  somebody — something — 
heard?  .  .  ." 

*'  I  am  a  materialist,"  declared  the  man  of  science, 
tilting  the  bottle  shakily  over  the  emptied  glass. 
Almayer  nodded  his  head  and  went  on — 
"  Nobody  saw  what  really  happened  but  that  man 
Mahmat.  He  always  said  that  he  was  no  further  ofif 
from  them  than  two  lengths  of  his  lance.  It  appears 
the  two  women  rowed  each  other  while  that  Willems 
stood  between  them.  Then  Mahmat  says  that  when 
Joanna  struck  her  and  ran  off,  the  other  two  seemed 
to  become  sudden  mad  together.  They  rushed  here 
and  there.  Mahmat  says — those  were  his  very  words : 
'  I  saw  her  standing  holding  the  pistol  that  fires  many 
times  and  pointing  it  all  over  the  campong.  I  was 
afraid — lest  she  might  shoot  me,  and  jumped  on  one 


330 


AN  OUTCAST  OF  THE   ISLANDS. 


side.  Then  I  saw  the  white  man  coming  at  her  swiftly. 
He  came  Hke  our  master  the  tiger  when  he  rushes  out 
of  the  jungle  at  the  spears  held  by  men.  She  did  not 
take  aim.  The  barrel  of  her  weapon  went  like  this 
— from  side  to  side,  but  in  her  eyes  I  could  see  sud- 
denly a  great  fear.  There  was  only  one  shot.  She 
shrieked  while  the  white  man  stood  blinking  his  eyes 
and  very  straight,  till  you  could  count  slowly  one, 
two,  three;  then  he  coughed  and  fell  on  his  face.  The 
daughter  of  Omar  shrieked  without  drawing  breath, 
till  he  fell,  I  went  away  then  and  left  silence  behind 
me.  These  things  did  not  concern  me,  and  in  my  boat 
there  was  that  other  woman  who  had  promised  me 
money.  We  left  directly,  paying  no  attention  to  her 
cries.  We  are  only  poor  men,  and  had  but  a  small 
reward  for  our  trouble ! '  That's  what  Mahmat  said. 
Never  varied.  You  ask  him  yourself.  He's  the  man 
you  hired  the  boats  from,  for  your  journey  up  the 
river." 

"  The  most  rapacious  thief  I  ever  met!  "  exclaimed 
the  traveller,  quickly. 

"  Ah!  He  is  a  respectable  man.  His  two  brothers 
got  themselves  speared — served  them  right.  They 
went  in  for  robbing  Dyak  graves.  Gold  ornaments  in 
them,  you  know.  Serve  them  right.  But  he  kept  re- 
spectable and  got  on.  Aye!  Everybody  got  on — but 
I.  And  all  through  that  scoundrel  who  brought  the 
Arabs  here." 

*'  De  mortuis  nil  ni  .  .  .  num,"  muttered  Almay- 
er's  guest. 

"  I  wish  you  would  speak  English  instead  of  jab- 
bering in  your  own  language,  which  no  one  can  un- 
derstand," said  Almayer,  sulkily. 

"  Don't  be  angry,"  hiccoughed  the  other.  "  It's 
Latin,  and  it's  wisdom.  It  means:  Don't  waste  your 
breath  in  abusing  shadows.  No  ofiFence  there.  I  like 
you.      You    have   a    quarrel   with   proyidence  —  so 


AN  OUTCAST   OF   THE   ISLANDS. 


331 


have  I.  I  was  meant  to  be  a  professor,  while — 
look." 

His  head  nodded.  He  sat  grasping  the  glass.  Al- 
mayer  walked  up  and  down,  then  stopped  suddenly. 

**  Yes,  they  all  got  on  but  I.  Why?  I  am  better 
than  any  of  them.  Lakamba  calls  himself  a  Sultan, 
and  when  I  go  to  see  him  on  business  sends  that  one- 
eyed  fiend  of  his — Babalatchi — to  tell  me  that  the 
ruler  is  asleep;  and  shall  sleep  for  a  long  time.  And 
that  Babalatchi!  He  is  the  Shahbandar  of  the  State 
— if  you  please.  Oh,  Lord!  Shahbandar!  The  pig! 
A  vagabond  I  wouldn't  let  come  up  these  steps 
when  he  first  came  here.  .  .  .  Look  at  Abdulla  now. 
He  lives  here  because — he  says — here  he  is  away  from 
white  men.  But  he  has  hundreds  of  thousands.  Has 
a  house  in  Penang.  Ships.  What  did  he  not  have 
when  he  stole  my  trade  from  me !  He  knocked  every- 
thing here  into  a  cocked  hat;  drove  father  to  gold- 
hunting — then  to  Europe,  where  he  disappeared. 
Fancy  a  man  like  Captain  Lingard  disappearing  as 
though  he  had  been  a  common  coolie.  Friends  of 
mine  wrote  to  London  asking  about  him.  Nobody 
ever  heard  of  him  there!  Fancy!  Never  heard  of 
Captain  Lingard !  " 

The  learned  gatherer  of  orchids  lifted  his  head. 

"  He  was  a  sen  .  .  .  sentimen  .  .  .  tal  old  buc 
.  .  .  buccaneer,"  he  stammered  out,  "  I  like  him.  I'm 
sent  ...  tal  myself." 

He  winked  slowly  at  Almayer,  who  laughed. 

"Yes!  I  told  you  about  that  gravestone.  Yes! 
Another  hundred  and  twenty  dollars  thrown  away. 
Wish  I  had  them  now.  He  would  do  it.  And  the 
inscription.  Ha!  ha!  ha!  '  Peter  Willems,  Delivered 
by  the  Mercy  of  God  from  his  enemy.'  What  enemy 
— unless  Captain  Lingard  himself?  And  then  it  has 
no  sense.  He  was  a  great  man — father  was — but 
strange   in  many  ways.  .  .  .  You   haven't   seen    the 


332  AN  OUTCAST   OF  THE  ISLANDS. 

grave?     On  the  top  of  that  hill,  there,  on  the  other 
side  of  the  river.    I  must  show  you.    We  will  go  there." 

"  Not  I !  "  said  the  other.  "  No  interest  ...  in 
the  sun  .  .  .  too  tiring.  .  .  .  Unless  you  carry  me 
there." 

As  a  matter  of  fact  he  was  carried  there  a  few 
months  afterwards,  and  his  was  the  second  white  man's 
grave  in  Sambir;  but  at  present  he  was  aHve  if  rather 
drunk.    He  asked  abruptly — 

"  And  the  woman?  " 

"  Oh!  Lingard,  of  course,  kept  her  and  her  ugly 
brat  in  Macassar.  Sinful  waste  of  money — that! 
Devil  only  knows  what  became  of  them  since  father 
went  home.  I  had  my  daughter  to  look  after.  I 
shall  give  you  a  word  to  Mrs.  Vinck  in  Singapore 
when  you  go  back.  You  shall  see  her.  Lucky  man. 
She  is  beautiful,  and  I  hear  so  accomplished,  so  .  .  ." 

"  I  have  heard  already  twenty  ...  a  hundred 
rimes  about  your  daughter.  What  ab  .  .  .  about 
.  .  .  that  .  .  .  that  other  one,  Ai  .  .  .  ssa?" 

"She!  Oh!  we  kept  her  here.  She  was  mad  for 
a  long  time  in  a  quiet  sort  of  way.  Father  thought  a 
lot  of  her.  We  gave  her  a  house  to  live  in,  in  my  cam- 
pong.  She  wandered  about,  speaking  to  nobody  un- 
less she  caught  sight  of  Abdulla,  when  she  would  have 
a  fit  of  fury,  and  shriek  and  curse  like  anything.  Very 
often  she  would  disappear — and  then  we  had  all  to 
turn  out  and  hunt  for  her,  because  father  would  worry 
till  she  was  brought  back.  Found  her  in  all  kinds  of 
places.  Once  in  the  abandoned  campong  of  Lakam- 
ba.  Sometimes  simply  wandering  in  the  bush.  She 
had  one  favourite  spot  we  always  made  for  at  first. 
It  was  ten  to  one  on  finding  her  there — a  kind  of  a 
grassy  glade  on  the  banks  of  a  small  brook.  Why  she 
preferred  that  place,  I  can't  imagine!  And  such  a 
job  to  get  her  away  from  there.  Had  to  drag  her  away 
by  main  force.    Then,  as  the  time  passed,  she  became 


AN   OUTCAST   OF   THE   ISLANDS. 


333 


quieter  and  more  settled,  like.  Still,  all  my  people 
feared  her  greatly.  It  was  my  Nina  that  tamed  her. 
You  see  the  child  was  naturally  fearless,  and  used  to 
have  her  own  way,  so  she  would  go  to  her  and  pull 
at  her  sarong,  and  order  her  about,  as  she  did  every- 
body. Finally  she,  I  verily  believe,  came  to  love  the 
child.  Nothing  could  resist  that  little  one — you  know. 
She  made  a  capital  nurse.  Once  when  the  little  devil 
ran  away  from  me  and  fell  into  the  river  off  the  end 
of  the  jetty,  she  jumped  in  and  pulled  her  out  in  no 
time.  I  very  nearly  died  of  fright.  Now  of  course 
she  lives  with  my  serving  girls,  but  does  what  she 
likes.  As  long  as  I  have  a  handful  of  rice  or  a  piece 
of  cotton  in  the  store  she  sha'n't  want  for  anything. 
You  have  seen  her.  She  brought  in  the  dinner  with 
Ali." 

"What!    That  doubled-up  crone?" 

''Ah!"  said  Almayer.  "They  age  quickly  here. 
And  long  foggy  nights  spent  in  the  bush  will  soon 
break  the  strongest  backs — as  you  will  find  out  your- 
self soon." 

"  Dis  .  .  .  disgusting,"  growled  the  traveller. 

He  dozed  off.  Almayer  stood  by  the  balustrade 
looking  out  at  the  bluish  sheen  of  the  moonlit  night. 
The  forests,  unchanged  and  sombre,  seemed  to  hang 
over  the  water,  listening  to  the  unceasing  whisper  of 
the  great  river;  and  above  their  dark  wall  the  hill  on 
which  Lingard  had  buried  the  body  of  his  late  prisoner 
rose  in  a  black,  rounded  mass  upon  the  silver  paleness 
of  the  sky.  Almayer  looked  for  a  long  time  at  the 
clean-cut  outline  of  the  summit,  as  if  trying  to  make 
out  through  darkness  and  distance  the  shape  of  that 
expensive  tombstone.  When  he  turned  round  at  last 
he  saw  his  guest  sleeping,  his  arms  on  the  table,  his 
head  on  his  arms. 

"  Now,  look  here!  "  he  shouted,  slapping  the  table 
with  the  palm  of  his  hand, 


334  AN  OUrCAST  OF  THE   ISLANDS. 

The  naturalist  woke  up,  and  sat  all  in  a  heap,  star- 
ing owlishly. 

"Here!"  went  on  Almayer,  speaking  very  loud 
and  thumping  the  table,  ''  I  want  to  know.  You, 
who  say  you  have  read  all  the  books,  just  tell  me  .  .  . 
why  such  damned  things  are  ever  born.  Here  I  am! 
Done  harm  to  nobody,  lived  an  honest  life  .  .  .  and  a 
scoundrel  like  that  is  born  in  Rotterdam  or  some  such 
damn'd  place  at  the  other  end  of  the  world  somewhere, 
travels  out  here,  robs  his  employer,  runs  away  from  his 
wife,  and  ruins  me  and  my  Nina — he  ruined  me,  I 
tell  you — and  gets  himself  shot  at  last  by  a  poor  mis- 
erable savage,  that  knows  nothing  at  all  about  him 
really.  Where's  the  sense  of  all  this?  Where's  your 
providence?  Where's  the  good  for  anybody  in  all 
this?  The  world's  a  swindle!  A  swindle!  Why 
should  I  suffer?    What  have  I  done  to  be  treated  so?  " 

He  howled  out  his  string  of  questions,  and  sud- 
denly became  silent.  The  man  who  ought  to  have 
been  a  professor  made  a  tremendous  effort  to  articulate 
distinctly — 

''  My  dear  fellow,  don't  .  .  .  don't  you  see  that  the 
ba  .  .  .  bare  fac  .  .  .  the  fact  of  your  existence  is  off 
.  .  .  offensive.  ...  I  ...  I  like  you  .  .  .  like  .  .  ." 

He  fell  forward  on  the  table,  and  ended  his  remarks 
by  an  expected  and  prolonged  snore. 

Almayer  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  walked  back 
to  the  balustrade.  He  drank  his  own  trade  gin  very 
seldom,  but,  when  he  did,  a  ridiculously  small  quantity 
of  the  stuff  could  induce  him  to  assume  a  rebellious 
attitude  towards  the  scheme  of  the  universe.  And 
now,  throwing  his  body  over  the  rail  he  shouted  im- 
pudently into  the  night,  turning  his  face  towards  that 
far-off  and  invisible  slab  of  imported  granite  upon 
which  Lingard  had  thought  fit  to  record  God's  mercy 
and  Willems'  escape. 

"Father   was   wrong — wrong!"    he   yelled,     "I 


AN   OUTCAST   OF  THE   ISLANDS.  335 

want  you  to  smart  for  it.  You  must  smart  for  it! 
Where  are  you,  Willems?  Hey?  .  .  .  Hey?  .  .  . 
Where  there  is  no  mercy  for  you — I  hope !  " 

"  Hope,"  repeated  in  a  whispering  echo  the  startled 
forests,  the  river  and  the  hills ;  but  Almayer,  who  stood 
waiting  with  his  head  on  one  side  and  a  smile  of  tipsy 
attention  on  his  lips,  heard  no  other  answer. 


a> 


THE  END. 


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